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THE 



MODERN ORLANDO. 



JUST PUBLISHED, 

SKETCHES, 

LEGAL AND POLITICAL, 

BY THE LATE EIGHT HON. 

EICHAED LALOE SHEIL. 

2 vols. 



V 



7 *- / 



THE 



MODERN OELANDO 



| iotin. 



BY THE 



REV. GEORGE CROLY, LL.D. 



Seconfa IStittixm. 



LONDON: 
PUBLISHED FOB HEKRY GOLBDKN, 

BY HIS SUCCESSORS, HURST AND BLACKETT, 

GBEAT ilAEEBOEOUGH STEEET. 

1855. 



l?55 



of Congress 
transfer from 
be Department. 

MAY 3 1 1927 



PREFACE. 



This poem first appeared several years since, and as 
it was published without the writer's name, he amused 
himself by dividing its parentage among the literary 
celebrities of the day. The ruse was common, is 
legitimate, and was unrevenged. It produced no 
belligerency of either pen, pencil, or pistol, and the 
few stanzas in which it was practised, are suffered to 
remain, as the trophies of a bloodless field. 

I had been reading Ariosto, and had felt the 
general delight in the picturesque vividness, airy 
elegance, and brilliant invention, of the Italian — 
in my conception the greatest poet of Italy in its 
greatest day. I contend with no man, or woman, 
on this subject, or, perhaps, on any other; I leave 
the stern sublimities of Dante, to those who can 
understand (which no Italian now can) a language, 



VI PREFACE. 

as obsolete, cramped, and obscure, as a cenotaph of 
hieroglyphics. I leave the intolerable love-making of 
Petrarch, to those who can find the language of passion 
in the elaborate artifices of sonneteering; I equally 
leave the heavy embroidery of Tasso, to those who can 
feel raptures in a procession of cardinals, or the pomp 
of a melodrame; but for the music of language, variety 
of conception, and delicious fancy, I turn instinctively 
to the great master of the Cinquecentisti. 

I here allude to him only as a poet. His morality 
is that of Italy, in all the past, and as it will be in all 
the future, until men cease to deposit their consciences 
in the hands of confessors. The truest champion of 
his fame would be, an Edizione Gastigata. 

Those familiar with Italian literature know the 
distinction of the three great classes — the Tre- 
centisti, the Cinquecentisti, and the Scientisti. The 
first the age of Dante, the second the age of Ariosto, 
(whom the Italians still call " Divino/') the prince of 
the Augustan age of modern Italy; and the third, an 
age w T hen the governments lost the vigour, extrava- 
gance, and genius of their republics. The literature 



PREFACE. vn 

besran to degenerate with the liberty, and they thence- 
forth became purist s, jurists, economists, and slaves. 

It was originally intended, to prolong this poem 
to a ramble through Europe, and touching on its 
principal cities, characteristics, and scenes, thus to 
have wandered from north to south, and from east to 
west. Other circumstances, however, intervened : 
more imperious duties compelled the intermission; 
yet, I, even now, with some reluctance, break off a 
plan, which might have offered an animating pursuit, 
amused the leisure of others, and perhaps supplied 
not the least valuable among the refreshments of my 
own mind. 

G. C. 



London, January, IS 55, 



NOTICE. 

The Readek will have the kindness to correct the 
following 

ERRATA. 

In stanza xvi., canto 1, 

for Having of seasalt drunk my full proportion, 
read Having of surge and seasalt drunk my potion. 

And in stanza xviii. , canto 1, 

for Playing the fool in languages unknown, 
read Playing the fool with many an honest groan. 

With any other which he may find " quas incuria fudit." 



THE 

MODERN ORLANDO. 



" Travel ! travel ! travel ! The mind stagnates at home. The 
flower dies unless it is transplanted, Hear all things — see all things 
— write all things, and write them on the spot. Give the world your 
thoughts, fresh, fast, and fail', as they come. Make your pen a 
pencil, your ink colours, your paper a canvas, and Nature your sitter. 
Say what you think ; tell the truth, — and fear not. Cherish woman, 
and castigate man. Be bold of heart, quick of eye, and pleasant 
of tongue. Carlo mio — where then is the true poet to be found. 
By the Madonna, I know not. Let the world, which decides every 
thing, decide that too. I follow none,- — I ask none to follow me. 
This is the only boast of your friend Ludovico.- — Farewell ! may 
all the Graces hover round your pillow. Carlo mio." 

Lettere Scelte, v. 2. 



A few notes of reference are given at the close of each Canto. 



THE PROLOGUE. 



Loved Ariosto ! May I follow thee ? 

"What if the day is done, of steel-clad knights ; 
If blight has fall'n on Fancy's blossomed tree ; 

If Queen Titania and her bine-winged sprites 

No longer sing on Midsummer sweet Nights ; 
If minstrels ride no more on fiery dragons ; 

If Caliphs' daughters take no genie flights ; 
If now man's only flying things are waggons ; 
Yet will I take one draught from thy rich-jewelled 
flagons. 

b2 



4 PROLOGUE. 

Why do I write ? — 'Tis only as I breathe ; 

"lis to obey an instinct, impulse, will ! 
'Tis not to catch the poet's fleeting wreath ; 

5 Tis to discharge my heart of thoughts that thrilL 

I write, as down the mountain rolls the rill ; 
Down it must roll, however wild or tame — 

Whether my verse the world's wide trumpet fill, 
Or die at once, to me 'tis all the same ; — 
/ write not for the world, for lucre, love, or fame. 

But " Poetry is dead ; gone down, for ever ! " 

So say all gentlemen in gouty shoes. 
Is she ? — Such whimpering puts me in a fever ; 

" 1 11 buckler thee against a million," Muse. 

What care I for the chain-shot of reviews ; 
'Tis true, of Turks the world was rather tired ; 

A leetle weary, too, of " tails and trews ! " 
Some Bards were in Australia, some were " hired ; " 
In Judges some were swamped — in Bishops some 
inspired ! 



PROLOGUE. 5 

Poets, awake ! throw off your gran dam's clothes ; 

Disdain to live upon the dead ; — break ground : 
Leave classic plunder to the men of prose ; 

There is a world beyond the " poet's Pound; " 

Nature and soul alike exclaim Cf Look round ! J ' 
Genius is but Originality! 

Let babes and babblers in their swathes be bound ; 
Give freedom to the heart, the hand, the eye : 
blinds feeding on the dust, in dust shall live — and die. 

So, — let the gone be gone ; the past be past. 

Must we go tottering on their stilts, for ever ? 
Does not our life-blood flow as free and fast ? 

Must we be chained to tombstones ? Never, never ! 

Is not Ambition still Life's golden lever ? 
Is not the world one fiery-wheeled machine ? 

Poets, awake ! — your rusty shackles sever : 
The times are rich and ripe, to shift the scene, — 
Then — welcome the Xew Age, Court, Cabinet, and 
Queen. 



6 PROLOGUE. 

Who am I ? — Do 1 wear a pilgrim's scallop, 

Albanian kilt, or knightly mail and casque ? 
Guess me, (thy torment Jonathan !) the Tr — 11 — pe ; 

Or stately Lady Emm — 1 — ne, en masque ; 

Or, (if the world should further deign to ask,) 
Make me a wit, and call me Bl — s — ngt — n, 

(Taking our wicked Tory times to task ;) 
Or Lady L — nd — nd — rry. — So think on ! 
Then shines my lucky star, my laurels all are won. 

Am I Bavaria's Monarch ? — Czar ? — Czarina ? 

Or Louis Philippe ? — (all your Kings now write)- — 
Or Lady M — rg — n, with a new Glorvina ? 

(The lonely star of Ireland's stormy night). 

Sm — th ? M — re ? or Br — gh — m, still flashing left 
and right ; 
Or Aid-de-camp, upon the Prince's Staff! 

(" Visions of glory ! spare my aching sight ! ") 
Or, man of mirth and mitre, old LI — nd — fF? 
I leave the wondering world its secret, and my laugh. 



PROLOGUE. 

Or, if you think I 'm lively Lady Ch — rl — tte,-— 

The world will like my " Anecdotes 5 ' the better ; 
Read by all "gentlemen," from black to scarlet ; 

Or, Mrs. A — st — n, charming in black letter ; 

Or gentle M — yn — rd — I 'm the more your debtor. 
Or, think me Mrs. N — rt — n, the tenth Muse, 

Binding all bosoms in her golden fetter ! 
(One whisper more, — now, make me what you chuse) — 
I'm Ariel ! — my cloud waits, — so, take my last adieus ! 



THE 

MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO I. 

THE YACHT — THE PIRATE OF THE ARCHIPELAGO — BOULOGNE 

ANGELIQUE — PARIS — THE LOUVRE — THE THREE 

MONARCHS. 

I. 

Must all earth's idlers harp upon one string ?— 

" Rome a Mosaic fragment of the sky ! " — 
" A Naples Winter — worth a London Spring ! " — 

" Ye Goths ! once visit Naples, and then — die !" — 

Elysium but a type of Italy ! 
Here, " Tiger," pack my passports and valise. 

Let who will bear the taunt, so will not I, 
While Monsieur Joinville deigns to give us peace ; — - 
(Steam and six hours, if dark, must break old England's 
lease !) 

b3 



10 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO J. 

II. 

Let Exquisites and Envoys take the packet, 

I leave the milksops to their three hour's fright ; 
'Scaping that hospital, with all its racket, 

/ by the Southern railroad take my flight 

To my sea-paradise, the Isle of Wight ! 
There the Yacht Squadron lies, at single anchor ; 

All pennants loose — I know no prettier sight ; 
When London smoke begins the soul to canker, 
Or when one's last account comes wafered, from one's banker. 

III. 
THE YACHT. 
I have a friend, a rambler like myself, 

Who hates to hear the Channel surges bellow, 
Wears at his button-hole, not even the Guelph ! 

Envies no living " admiral of the yellow," 

Detests your red-faced, rough, sea-going fellows- 
Knows in St. James's every saint and sinner, 

In all the Mayfair mysteries is mellow ; 
Yet, keeps a yacht, a famous gold-cup winner, 
And gives his town allies a sofa, sail, and dinner. 



canto I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 1 1 

IV. 

But, let me show you to the " Captain's " berth, 
The cabin, where he rules " en vrai Sultaun," 

Circled with " small necessities" of earth; — 

The hookah's fragrance through the crystal drawn, 
The high-life novel (read with many a yawn ;) 

And, glittering round the little sea-boudoir, 
Enamelled pistols, daggers Ottoman ; 

For billets-doux, an ivory Escritoire. 

With fifty bijou things, too long for my " memoire." 

V, 

Buhl tables, strewed with trinkets and virtu, 

Carrara marbles on consoles, around ; 
Some " Chalon" portraits, exquisite, though few, — 

(The names, of course, a mystery profound !) 

A soft iEolian's sentimental sound, 
Breathing at every whisper of the breeze ; 

All ruder tones by silken curtains drown'd. — 
The little round of little luxuries, 
Which make a yachtman's life a little at its ease ! 



12 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO U 

VI. 

Then comes the dinner (a la Clarendon), 

Covers for four (all yacht-men dine off plate, 
Though, for dessert, the Sevres still is " ton.") 

Soup, turtle, — dinner on the board at eight. 

(Two Frenchmen, two Italians, on us wait.) 
Then chasse-cafe, a glass of iced champagne, 

Johannisberg, from Metternich's estate ; 
Lafitte, just sipped, to cool the wines of Spain. 
Thus life is roughed at sea, " Britannia, rule the main.'' 

VII. 
But, now the breeze awakes — the anchor's up. 

Smooth as a fish, beside the beach we glide, 
Lounging on deck, till comes the hour, to sup. 

How pleasantly the yacht just feels the tide ! 

Then takes a stretch, and sweeps the waters wide ; 
While sink the lights along the lessening shore, 

Till the last murmurs of the land have died, 
And the surge glitters, like a starry floor — 
And yet — an evening sail may sometimes prove a bore. 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 18 

VIII. 
THE AECHIPELAGO. 
Pray, reader, have you seen a naval action ? 

If so, I need not tell you, 'tis no trifle. 
Once in my life, I had that satisfaction, 

And heard enough of carronade and rifle, 

Closed by a bath, that might a seahorse stifle. 
But, to my tale. — 'Twas on a summer-night; 

The world and sea were smooth. I had no wife ill, 
Was not in love or debt ; my heart was light — 
Just the last man, and hour, to choose a pirate-fight. 

IX. 
The moon was sinking softly behind Cos, 

Like a sultana, couching on the sea : 
I lay on deck, to see her beams emboss 

Bright mount, tall minaret, and fruit-hung tree. 

Anon came, slyly stealing up our lee, 
A dark, long-sided, rogueish-looking thing ; 

But not a sound was heard of gloom or glee : 
She swept around us with a sullen swing, 
As round the pigeon sweeps the falcon on the wing. 



14 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO i. 

X. 

The " maiden moon " soon brought us to a check, 
Played a jilt's trick, and left us in the dark. 

The boatswain piped " all hands " — all stood on deck ; 
Up went the signal-lanterns; — not a spark 
Shone, stem or stern, about our neighbour bark. 

" No answer ? — Try a shot, and get her range." 

We heard our twelve-pound message reach its mark. 

She still kept wearing, looking shy and strange, 

When, all at once, out burst her broadside in exchange ! 

XI. 
This settled all our qualms ; we blazed pell mell, 

Loading and firing, till our guns were hot. 
Our gallant ship all smoke, the air all yell, 

The sea around us, like a witches' pot, 

Boiling and bubbling. Still, in that same spot, 
Stood the black pirate, pouring in her fire ; 

Round, grape, and all the " regulation shot," 
As thick as any tourist might desire ; 
Both roaring, as I 've seen old iEtna's flaming spire. 



CANTO I. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. IS 



XII. 

But now, the gale (at first we were becalmed) 

Came on, in gusts that ripped the sea in foam. 
The two bold brawlers mutually salam'd. 

Each bark — smoke-covered, like a glass-house dome. 

Home came our topmasts, happy to " get home," 
The broadsides snapping mast and shroud, and sail. 

(/made a vow, in Greece no more to roam.) 
Still crashed the grape, the musket shower d its hail, 
And bellow'd o'er them all the thunders of the gale. 

XIII. 
" Boarders, be ready ! " was the captain's word. 

" That bark is ours. — Blue jackets, to the poop !" 
Up went the helm. With pistol, pike, and sword. 

We jump'd upon her deck at one fell swoop. 

A pleasant sight we had Tliere stood a troop 

Of ev'ry villain face, from Pole to Line, 

Greek, Arab, Negro, a delicious group ! 
In front, their pikes — below, the magazine ; 
Above us, storm — around, the black and roaring brine ! 



16 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto I. 

XIV. 

Yet things will happen 'twixt the cup and lip : 

The bark was scarcely boarded, when a blaze, 
That show'd we should make little by our trip, 

Was clearly making way among the stays. 

(Our own good ship had vanish'd in the haze), 
While every freshening gust renewed the flame : 

And thus, instead of prize-money and praise, 
Cinders or sharks seemed doom'd to end our fame.- — 
Well, chance is all in all ; the world is but a game ! 

XV. 
5 Tis true, the sea was round us, cool enough ; 

But what, except a grampus, there could live ? 
Our ship had now come back, and tried to luff, 

Dipping and dripping like a Lapland sieve. 

/ felt my time was come to roast,— or dive ! 
So, made a speech, not long, but somewhat pithy : 

" My lads, these rogues have smoked us from their hive, 
This deck will soon be burning like a smithy : 
Take my advice, and swim; here goes, good luck be with ye." 



canto I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 

XVI. 

With that, I plunged, five fathom deep, in ocean ; 

And rose, half choking, on a mountain billow, 
Having of sea-salt drunk my full proportion. 
. There lay I, tossing like a weeping willow, 

With some three hundred on the self-same pillow, 
Thinking of our black bed-fellow, the shark ; 

(With, now and then, an ancient peccadillo :) 
But, soon to heaven shot up a blaze ; and, hark ! 
A roar of gunpowder: — good bye to the bold bark ! 

XVII. 
You may presume, that I was haul'd on board : 

Or else the wondering world had lost my story. 
I never told it since — (I've sheathed my sword:) 

I hate your " long-yarn people," whig or tory. 

I leave De Joinville all my naval glory ; 
Wishing him only where / was that night, 

Battling with burning wrecks and surges gory ; 
Much doubting if my skin were water-tight. 
His laurels are to come — I've had my pirate fight 



18 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto i. 

XVIII. 

BOULOGNE.; 
Now to the world again ! We ran up Channel ; 

Dropped anchor in thy surge of mire, Boulogne ; 
Saw Bond-street " emigres? in gout and flannel ; 

Saw heroes, to their tailors too well known ; 

Saw Cheapside exquisites " performing " ton ; 
Saw, in his second childhood, dear John Bull, 

Playing the fool, in languages unknown ; 
Trying with sour Medoc his cares to lull ; 
Yawning from morn till night, loose, lazy, shrunk, and dull. 

XIX. 

We rambled round the sights — The horse-pond bay, 

Where rotted thy last fleet, Napoleon ; 
Laughed at thy Pillar, trophy of child's-play ! 

Ordered our bill and britchska, and were gone : 

Stumbled o'er fifty leagues of ruthless stone ; 
Saw women, priests, and horses, on their knees ; 

Heard our postilions howl on the trombone ; 
Breathed villainous tobacco in each breeze, 
And swallowed " old champagne," fresh made, from last 
year's lees. 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 19 

XX. 

" On, on/' 1 hate to linger in my journey ; 

Dash down the valley, gallop up the hill ! 
I'd rather spend an hour with my attorney, 

Marry a " philosophe," or make my will, 

Than, when IVe once got under weigh, stand still. — 
What spires are these, just gleaming in the noon? 

We reach and rouse thy streets, old Abbeville — 
What dome is rising, like a brick balloon ? 
The Invalides' Day sinks — we gallop by the moon ! 

XXT. 
A Paris moon ! burlesque of the sublime ; — 

And yet, when shining on some quiet shore, 
When airs are sweet and soft, in summer-time, 

And scarce a sail is seen, or heard an oar ; 

And those, whom once we loved, yet meet no more, 
Seem passing, like the cloud before the wind ; 

Forms, buried long, within the bosom's core ; 
Fond memories, in our heart of heart enshrined — 
Moonlight, I own, that thou art pleasant to my mind. 



20 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO 



XXII. 

In Gallic travel, one meets many a wreck, 

The once proud mansion of the great and gay, 

Which still some remnants of old splendour deck. 
But, one I passed this evening, dim and gray, 
(Seen, not unfitly, by the moon's pale ray;) 

Its last, lone turret peeping from its grove ; 
Crushed in the storm of France's furious day. 

Which had a story, with some thoughts inwove 

Of that strange, vanished thing, by old Romance called 
Love ! 

XXIII. 
ANGELIQUE. 

Within those walls, now, fifty years ago, 

Lived the old Marechal, Marquis Delorange ; 

Proud of his rank, his lineage, and chateau ; 
Yet prouder of his Angelique — his "ange!" — 
The star of all the country's gay melange ; 

His daughter — woo'd by many a noble neighbour, 
But, laughing at the thought of love or change ; 

With step as light, as ever danced to tabor ; 

Untouched by all the " charms " of coronet and sabre ! 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 21 

XXIV. 

Young Angelique was like a morning rose, 

Bending and blushing in heaven's brightest dew ; 
Her cheek, that loveliest of all cheeks, which shows 

Each feeling in its ever-changing hue ; 

The ringlets round her sunny forehead flew, 
Like the rich cloudlets of a summer sky ; 

The heart was in her glance of heavenly blue ; 
A guileless heart, that never knew a sigh ; 
Gay as the springing lark, or new-winged butterfly. 

XXV. 
But " what is written," says the Turk, Ci is written." 

Sweet Angelique, to her intense surprise, 
Grew dreamy, silent, seemed to feel care-smitten — 

Whether it came from sonnets, or from sighs, 

Or the deep lustre of love-lighted eyes, 
Sole birthright of a gallant soldier's son. 

His father slept beneath Italian skies, 
Covered with laurels ; victory was won ; 
But — the heart-broken wife and orphan were undone ! 



22 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO I. 

XXVI. 

They met at last ; the world was strewn with roses ! — 

The lover rushes to the " Grand Chateau/' 
Falls at the Marechal's feet — his soul discloses ! — 

The father calmly strikes the mortal blow ; 

w Sir," said the stately Noble, " you should know, 
My title is not older than Charlemagne ; 

My rentes, a million francs ! — both, much too low, 
For such a splendid specimen of man ! 
Pray, when did you last build your ' Chateaux en Espagne ?'" 

XXVII. 

As if a thunderbolt had dropt before him, 

The frantic lover darted from the room ; 
The pangs of humble birth and fortune tore him ; 

That haughty sarcasm had pronounced his doom. 

The whole wide world was now a den, a tomb ! 
Fire in his heart and frenzy in his brain, 

He wandered sleepless through that midnight's gloom, 
Raving at fate, that gave him life in vain ; 
Longing to die, and yet — delighting in his chain ! 



CANTO i. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 23 

XXVIII. 

Why are the heart's young visions so unstable ? 

The legend tells us — " souls were formed in pairs," — 
('Tis Plato's tale — too pretty for & fable) — 

They, hand in hand, descend th' Olympian stairs, 

Each finding at the foot its " pack " of cares. 
They part, and roam the living world around ! 

Some meet again ; the prize of life is theirs ! 
More stray — their kindred spirit still unfound— 
Till, in Elysium's bowers, their marriage rite is crown'd ! 

XXIX. 

Next morn, the youth before his mother knelt> 
And asked her blessing, and his father's sword ; 

Her gushing tears upon his forehead felt- — 
Then, wildly flew to join the fiery horde, 
Which France, like lava, on the nations poured ! 

Reckless of life — to die, his sole desire ; 
Wherever sabre clashed, or cannon roared. 

He rushed, in bitterness of shame and ire ; 

Foremost in every field, in toil, and flood, and fire ! 



"24 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO I. 



XXX. 

Those, too, were times of wonder — Simplon's ridge! 

Blasted with battle, drenched with blood, like rain ;— 
And the red massacre of Lodi's bridge — 

And the fierce charge of Alessandria's plain — 

When France's chieftain, like the comet's train, 
Filled the pale land at once with fear and flame ; 

When sank in blood the Austrian's eagle-vane ; 
When the crowned Lions of the earth were tame ; 
And Europe's withering heart but echoed one wild name ! 

XXXI. 
But, those were days of woe to Angelique — 

The smile from her delicious lip was gone, 
The rose had perished on her gentle cheek 

She loved but one, and she had lost that one ! — 

Her father fell, in battle for the throne ! 
Then came the tidings— ere the tears had dried, 

Shed from her heart upon his burial-stone — 
" Her lover, by Vienna's walls, had died ;" 
Making his funeral-bed in Danube's gory tide ! 






Canto i. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 25 

XXXII. 
Time smooths the heart, as water smooths the stone — 

(By icearing it away !) Years flowed along: 
Sweet Angelique, left helpless and alone, 

Too soft for struggle, too unknown for wrong, 

Borne on the current of life's nameless throng ; 
Was wedded, widowed, wandered climes afar ; 

Yet, in her lonely soul one pulse beat strong, 
Twas for her gallant boy — her young hussar — 
Now, following to the North Napoleon's fatal Star ! 

XXXIII. 
One eve, a horseman galloped to her door, 

To tell her — " that her son was doom'd to die ! n 
She wept not — fainted not — she heard no more ! 

But, in a mother's love, and agony, 

She braved the wilderness, the war, the sky — 
And found him in his dungeon, sad and pale. 

She sat beside him, till the night passed by ; 
The world, to them, was nothing in the scale — 
And there she wept, and prayed, and listened to his talc. 



26 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto I. 

XXXIV. 
" He loved his General's daughter, and was loved, 

(The tale was often checked, in grief and shame) 
" He sought her hand ; his passion was reproved ; 

" Her haughty father scorned his humble name ! 

" Then, in the hour of frenzy and of flame — 
"(Would he had perished in some gallant field !) 

" He challenged his superior! — Trial came — 
" The Emperor's sentence, Death ! — his doom was sealed ! 
" Next morn— his agonies of heart should all be healed. 5 ' 

XXXV. 
'Twas dawn. — The drums were heard, the arms unpiled. 

The mother to the victim's bosom clung : 
Kissed him, then rushed away ; faint, lonely, wild : 

Veiled from all eyes. — No sound escaped her tongue, 

Till at the General's feet her form was flung : 
There she implored in vain ; — yet still implored. 

" Must her last tie to earth be lost — so young, 
So brave, so guiltless ; by the troops adored ? " — 
Still sat the stately chief, as rigid as his sword ! 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 27 

XXXVL 

Yet spoke he soothingly, though stern and grave: — 
•• Her son mio;ht live, could bravery atone 

An act, no Earthly discipline forgave. — 

His suit, too, was presumptuous, — birth unknown :— 
The world was never made for love alone ; — 

High honours to high birth were best allied ; 

A general's daughter yet might share a throne." — 

At once she knew him — wildly rose, and cried, 

"And thou — hast thou, too, known the scorpion sting of 
Pride ? " 

XXXVII. 
He started : — there was memory, in the tone ! 

(How swift flies back the heart through many a year !) 
The veil was, in her anguish, upward thrown — 

The form that oft had filled his dreams, stood there ! 

He heard the voice, once magic to his ear ! 
(Time, and the world, may check our smiles or sighs : 

Nay, Passion's self forget its early tear : 
But, say what will the wisdom of the wise ; 
In hearts of noble mould, the Jirst love never dies.) 

c 2 



28 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 

XXXVIII. 

Few hearts have never loved; but fewer still 

Have felt a second passion ; none a third ! 
The first was living fire ; the next — a thrill ! — 

The weary heart can never more be stirred ; 

Rely on it, the song has left the bird ! 
— All 's for the best. — The fever and the flame, 

The pulse, that was a pang ; the glance, a word ; 
The tone, that shot like lightning through the frame, 
Can shatter us no more : — the rest is but a name ! 

XXXIX. 

And Angelique looked lovelier yet, to him : 
Her beauty seemed, by suffering, refined. 
(War and the World might dazzle, yet not dim, 
The glance, that saw the loveliness of mind ; 
Beauty, with tenderness and thought combined.) 
He felt the mournful grandeur of her eye, 

As, statue-like, she stood — all hope resigned ; 
Gazing on Heaven — still murmuring, like a sigh, 
With pale and quivering lip — "Oh ! must he, must he die?" 



CAMTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 29 

XL. 

She turned away: — he clasped her marble hand; 

His heart was young as ever : — all was o'er ! — 
H? was her lover in her own sweet land ! 

The struggle of some desperate day of gore, 

Had flung him, wounded, on the Danube's shore ; 
Chance rescued him ; he fought his way to fame. — 

Her young hussar was saved ! — I know no more, — 
But, two fair brides, one morn, to Warsaw came : — 
Ye heroes and hussars, I wish you all — the same ! 

XLI. 
PAEIS. 
Paris, thou strangest thing, of all things strange ; 

Young beauty, superannuated flirt : 
True to one love alone, and that one, Change ; 

Glittering, yet grim : half diamonds, and half dirt : 

Thou model of — two ruffles and no shirt ! 
Thy court, thy kingdom, and thy life, a game ; 

Worn out with age, and yet, by time unhurt ; 
Light without lustre, glory without fame, 
Earth's darkest picture, set in Earth's most gilded frame. 



30 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO I. 

XLII. 

Gay spot ! where all the world is in a hurry, 

Rambling, and scrambling o'er thy pavements stony. 

Gay spot ! where all Earth's idlest idlers bury 

Time, trouble, cash, and conscience, chez Tortoni — 
Thy mob, the genuine northern Lazzaroni, 

I say no more of thee, (I scorn to quote) — 
All Europe's troops have been thy Ciceroni ! 

The Bashkir bowmen have thee all by rote ; 

/ merely pause, to give one Louvre anecdote. 

XLIII. 
THE THEEE MONABCHS. 
Reality has often its romance ! 

Who can forget that " Soldier's" year " Fifteen?" 
When Waterloo " closed all accounts" with France, 
And Paris was one huge theatric scene, 
Crowded with dukes and "Highnesses serene;" 
Where kings and kaisers daily trod the boards, 

And every second woman was a queen, 
And all was crowns and sceptres, cannon, swords ! 
Thundering and trumpeting — all Lifeguards, Hosts, and 
Hordes ! 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 31 

XLIV. 

Tis true, poor Jean-Francpis was in a rage ; 

And grinn'd most terribly — (behind our back) : 
What then ?— we let him chatter in his cage, 

And gave him for his keeper the Cossack. 

Then was the sight,— the Boulevard bivouac ! 
All — tents, guns, banners, blue, and red, and green : 

Austrian and Prussian, Tartar, Russ, Polack, — 
(Like the first Act of Schiller's " Wallenstein ")— 
All nations come, to pay their " visit to the Seine." 

XLV. 
One morn, the honest, homely King of Prussia 

Called on the Emperor Francis, for a stroll ; 
And dropping in upon their brother, Russia ; 

Found him at Very's, at his chop and roll ; 

And having settled ail, from Line to Pole — 
Proposed to spend one half hour at their ease : 

So,, slipping Chiefs of Staff, and Grooms of Stole, 
And tempted by the summer sky and breeze, 
They sauntered, arm in arm, to see the Tuileries. 



32 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO I. 

XL VI. 

They found the Louvre open, and walked in, — 

Unknown ; three quiet, plain, blackcoated men ! 
All there, as usual, bustle, crowd, and din ! 

A tide of peasant, soldier, citizen! — 

To force the passage, was no trifle, then; 
For, all before them was the world's " tenth " Wonder ! 

(Long since all buried in its monkish den.) 
The world had never seen such brilliant plunder ; 
1 think, to strip it was, a more than Gothic blunder ! 

XLVII. 
What, if Napoleon robbed some craven throne ; 

The sitter, first had sold himself to shame ; — 
(/ should have mulcted him of flesh and bone !) 

Now, all is gone to darkness, whence it came ; 

To cowls, and cobwebs !— Well, the world 's to blame ! 
/ only wish, that I could give ye wings, 

Or sweep ye on some whirlwind car of flame, 
Back to my gaze again, ye glorious things ! 
Now, I must hunt ye out, 'mid monks, and monkish kings ! 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. o3 

XL VIII. 

(Not, that I mean to break through my decision, 

Never to talk of picture-galleries,) 
But, then the Louvre was no earthly vision; — 
Such lovelv nuns ! vou almost heard their sighs : 
Such pontiffs ! (all the Popedom in their eyes ;) 
Such monks ! with heavenward looks, (which monks had 
never !) 
Such nymphs ! as glowing as their own Greek skies ; 
Such chieftains ! made to ride and rule for ever ; 
One scarcely drew one's breath, — ' twas all gasp, flush, and 
fever ! 

XLIX. 
And then, what alabasters, bronzes, marbles ! — 

All bursting on you, in one gorgeous glare. 
(Pencil or pen the witchery but garbles) — 
The eye and mind were all one dazzled stare. 
Or, as you rushed, half fainting, to fresh air ; 
Just then, some face, of such deep loveliness, 

Beamed from its canvas, that it fixed you there ! 
Some "Dama," with bright eye and jet-black tress, 
Jewelled, and grand ! — I love that old Venetian dress ! 



34 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO I. 

L. 

Then, the Apollo ! — splendid ! — which the Pope 

Offered to give us. — My beloved Allies, 
I should have wished you all (in Heaven, I hope !) 

Ere / refused, like Castlereagh, the prize. 

(Alas ! the wisest are not always wise) 
/ should have taken him, with all my soul ! 

The Venus, too, found favour in my eyes ; 
Dimples and all ! — I loved her, every mole ! 
Dianas, Graces, Nymphs !— I should have grasped the 
whole ! 

LI. 
As rambled the three Sovereigns up and down, 

They met a rather puzzled English squire, 
Who, thinking them three tradesmen of the town, 

Asked them all questions, to his heart's desire : — 

" Who painted this gay dame, or that old friar ? " 
At last, when fairly tired of picture-frames, 

He said, — " I Ve now but one thing to enquire ; 
You have been civil, give me your three names : 
I '11 send you each some trout, when next I fish the Thames." 



CANTO I. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 35 

LIL 

" You speak," said one, " to Frederic, King of Prussia ; 

Now, keep your secret, stranger, and retire." — ■ 
" I," said the next, " am — but the Czar of Russia." 

" Better, and better still ! " laughed out the squire. 

" Friend," said the third, " I own, I 'm nothing higher ; 
Than Austria's Emperor!" — "The moon's at full!" 

Their hearer roared ; " I'll not be in the mire ! — 
I ; m better than your best ! — I 'm no John Bull ! 
Good morning, lads ! Ha ! ha ! I am the Great Mogul 1" 



NOTES TO CANTO I. 



Page 3, line 1. 
Loved Ariosto, 
In this Poem the "Imitation" is confined to the miscellaneous 
nature of the great Italian's immortal work. Ariosto introduces 
frequent episodes ; but his subject is wholly of the chivalric ages, 
and his episodes are chiefly legendary. Unfortunately, the fine 
harmony of his southern tongue is less capable of being followed by 
northern imitation. 

Page 4, line 4. 
I'll buckler thee against a million, Muse. 
"I'll buckler thee against a million, Kate." — Katherine and 
Petruchio. 

Page 7, line 2. 
Rome, a Mosaic, £$c. 
u Un pezzo di cielo caduto in terra." " Vedi Napoli, e poi, muori." 
Common Italian phrases. 

Page 7, line 9. 
Steam and six Jiours. 
See the pamphlet by a French prince of the blood, menacing 
Invasion. It will be remembered to his Royal Highness, and 
forgiven, in the next ei Emigration." Twickenham is still open. 

Page 8, line 12. 
Not even the Guelph. 
The most modern order of knighthood. 

Page 9, line 2, 
Sultaun. 
The Turkish pronunciation. 

Page 11, line 10. 
Behind, Cos. 
A pretty island, once much infested by pirates. 



33 NOTES TO CANTO I. 

Page 13, line 3. 
Saldmed. 
The Eastern word for bowing and salutation. 

Page 16, line 12. 

Laughed at thy pillar. 

Napoleon's monument of the " conquest " of England, which he 

never visited but as its prisoner. It remains the most solid burlesque 

in existence. Any nation but the French would have pulled it down 

long ago, from the mere sense of ridicule. 

Page 20, line 9. 
Chateaux en Espagne. 
iC Castles in the air/' 

Page 22, line 1. 
Simploris ridge^ Lodi, 6$c. 
The scene of Napoleon's first and most brilliant campaigns. 

Page 28, line 11. 
That " Soldiers " year " Fifteen." 
1815. The most memorable epoch of the century. — The year of 
Waterloo ; of the final fall of Napoleon ; of the second entrance of 
the Allies into Paris ; and of the restoration of the Bourbons. 

Page 30, line 9. 
A more than Gothic blunder. 
This opinion is given, merely on the point of European convenience. 
On the point of policy, there can be no doubt whatever that the 
tC Great Duke " was right in his pithy remark. But, with respect to 
Napoleon's original seizure of the Italian galleries, all men have long 
since given up the sentimentality formerly expressed on the subject. 
As conqueror, they were his. If they were worth defending by the 
Italians, they ought to have been fought for by the Italians. They 
were the prize of victory, and the most magnificent of all prizes. 
Their effect on the vanity of the French populace was incalculable; 
and it was upon this vanity that Napoleon's whole system of both 
war and peace was founded. Tyrant as he was, he thoroughly knew 
French mankind. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 39 



CANTO II. 



THE CAFES LA CUISINE THE PALAIS ROYAL THE MOB- 

THE JOURNEY THE CHAPLAIN. 



THE CAFES. 
Paris, farewell ! I take my final rounds, 

Among the " Restaurants : " adieu Vatel. 
('Tis true, one should be rather strong in pounds. 

To touch him ; but the very name 's a spell ;) 

You have your oj 7 sters, perfect — in the shell : 
Your " sixteen soups," — your turbot a la crime : 

Your custard, worthy of an abbot's cell ; 
Your venison, royale — ortolan, supreme. 
Your Macedoine — the whole, as dulcet as a dream, 



40 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO U 

II. 

How very few on earth know how to dine ! 

The vulgar take their dinners by the carte ; 
A meal, with them, is — " Meat washed down with wine," 

But dining rightly, is a mental art, 

Or senti-mental, — an affair of heart ! 
Ah) quelle patisserie ! the " Rose d } amour " 

Gives the true flavour to your Mango tart ; 
Then comes your Mocha coffee, hot and pure : — 
Call for your slice of Pine, and finish with Liqueur. 

III. 
But, make the tour. — The Roclier de Cancale 

Still bears the bell for oysters, and champagne : 
There no gilt gimcracks desecrate the salle, — 

Its pride is to be, plainest of the plain. 

Man there " knows better things," than to be vain ! 
If gilded Cafes charm you, try the " Paris ! " 

You have it there on pillar, post, and pane. 
Where at the bar, ('tis said,) once sat Dubarry, 
Too fond of liberty, old Louis Quinze to marry. 



CANTO II. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 41 



IV. 

Reserve for night the " Trois Freres Provenceaux" 
The Palais Royal's glon T ; the Trois Freres 

Rivals the world for rognons and noyeau. 

There from the Opera rush prince and peer — 
With every tongue of earth that splits the ear — 

From the iced Wolga to the sunny Po ; 

Magyr and Yankee, Meinherr and Mynheer, — 

The Polish sneeze, Greek scream, Turk, Esquimaux ; 

Babel let loose again, all jargons in full flow ! 

V. 
THE TUILEEIES. 
The Theatres ? — They Ve long lost caste in France ! 

They are canaille ! — A Tuileries' Ball-night 
(None but the Deputies, and hadauds, dance) 

Is, for mere " Spectacle," — a prettier sight. 

You see along the vista, left and right, 
(As nurserymen arrange their hot-house blooms) 

A thousand belles, all framed and glazed in light ; 
Dazzling your glance along the endless rooms, — 
A Cytherean cloud of chaplets, pearls, and plumes ! 



42 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO IS. 

VI. 

" Enter, — the king ! " — (the signal for quadrilling) 

His Majesty comes, smiling upon all ; 
With (ball-room) love and loyalty all thrilling. 

Then, sounds the trumpet — " Supper in the Salle ! " 

By Jove ! the weakest then soon find the wall. 
Nature is nature then ; and life is life. 

(One always feels so famished at a ball) 
Nothing subdues Romance like, fork and knife : 
Belles look on Beaux, and Beaux on Belles, like " man and 
wife." 

VII. 
LA CUISINE. 
Depend upon it, in all " leading " nations, 

The charade?* is in the cookery. 
Why do the British make such tough orations ? 

Why must the Frenchman chatter, skip — or die ? 

Why growls the honest German, like his sty ? — 
Beef-steaks, Frog-soup, and Sourkrout, are the cause ! 

His Oila swells the Spaniard's soul and sigh ! 
The Russ takes pattern by his own "bear's paws!" — 
Trust me — the civilized are modelled by the jaws. 



CANTO II. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 43 

VIII. 
Cooking, the earliest of man's master-arts ! 

So tells us the old gay Deipnosophist. 
Kings first displayed their talents, in their tarts, 

Long before pensions swamped the Civil List. 

Old Ossian's breechless Monarchs of the Mist 
Were famous hands at haggis and at haunch, — ■ 

Ere Jonathan (Earth's phoenix !) brewed " gin-twist ; " 
Ere \\ higs were slippery dogs, or Tories staunch : 
Or Frenchmen hunted frogs, upon thy shores, La Mancbe. 

IX. 

Bless thy five finger-tips, old priest of Jove ! 

The art's inventor — As, one day, he turned 
The sacrifice, without his sacred glove ; 

It slipped, he caught it slipping, and was burned ! 

(Instinct, we know, is never to be spurned,) — - 
He sucked his scorching paw, the pang to cool,— 

(His name in pyramids should be inurned ; 
The taste was rapturous I— he gave the rule— 
ei The priest, henceforth, who eats cold mutton,— is a fool ! " 



44 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto ir. 

X. 

I wish I had thy dashing pencil, Homer ; 

To paint those gallant demi-gods, the Greeks, 
(To call them men, is clearly a misnomer,) 

Thy groupe of chieftains, cooking their beef-steaks ; 

Each, with resplendent eye and glowing cheeks, 
Watching the sacred moment of the broil ; 

Old Nestor, dropping in the salt and leeks, 
Achilles, butlering the wine and oil, 
Till, round the golden dish, they laughed at Troy, and toil ! 

XI. 
Confucius potted lap-dogs But, I hurry 

(I hate procrastination,) to the Roman. 
(The East, besides, is weak, in all, but curry.) 

Caesar, 'tis known, would trust his soups to no man , 

Mark Antony, though he " lost the world for woman," 
Was cautious of his Cleopatra's stews. 

Rome, till she fell before the Northern bow-man, 
Though, at her best, not equal to ragouts, 
Challenged the world at shrimps, and wild-hog barbecues. 



CANTO II. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 45 

XII. 
Rome fell; — and France took charge of the cuisine : 

Monarchs may fade, but eating lasts for ever. 
The crown of Europe lies in the tureen, 

(So said Richelieu, who, for a priest, was clever.^) 

What *s Fame ? — a cheat ! and Love ? — a three-day fever ! 
Pass a few years, our passions slide away : 

But never man shall break the sceptre, never ! 
Which La Cuisine waves o'er us, grave or gay; 
So long as man is doomed to eat four meals a-dav. 

XIII. 
THE PALAIS EOYAL. 
I have a passion for those huge old buildings, 

That bear their story stamped on every stone: 
With all their sculptures, brasses, dusty gildings — 

Reliques of knaves who made, or marred, a throne ! 

Monarchs and mistresses, — (some, fools full grown !) 
Here ruled Richelieu ; here scowled the Thirteenth Louis, 

(Two craftier rogues the world has seldom known.) 
Here danced, (by woman all his life ebloui,) 
Old France's model-king ; old Maintenon's saintly roue. 



46 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO II. 

XIV. 

Quatorze ! I Ve seen much better men henpecked ; 

Heroes — who dared not call their souls their own ! 
Great orators — by one small whisper checked ! 

Stern Statesmen — mute as mice, before that throne. 

Where sat supreme their wedded " flesh and bone ! " 
All, managed by the " weaker vessel's " glance, 

The easy menace of the well-known tone. 
Their haughtiest chivalry there drops its lance, 
Long taught, that in such fields their chargers must not 
prance I 

XV. 
Not, that the lady flogs, or starves, or kicks ;— 

The thing is done by slow, but sure, degrees ; 
Just as your doctors their potations mix, 

Or, like the Frenchman's recipe for fl — s. 

" You tickle dem, dey laugh, and den, you seize, 
And den you drop your powder in deir jaws !"- — 

Or, as the lawyer first " puts in his pleas," 
Then, for your hanging, gracefully " shows cause ; " 
Then, leaves you to the judge— who leaves you to the laws ! 



CANTO IT. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 47 

XVI. 

And here, too, had its throne the Sovereign Mob ! 

Here, on the crown the rabble sabre clanged. 
Rise, preachers of the " Rights of Man/' — to rob ! 

Rise from your dust, ye headless, and ye hanged ! 

Beneath these very lamps Marat harangued ; 
Upon this shattered bench stood bold Danton. 

They trampled, and were trampled, — adders fanged ! 
France danced around them blackening in the sun ! 
I wonder, ivhen its next galop will be begun. 

XVII. 

Those were the days of business ! Earth has slept, 

Wrapt up in furs and follies, since those times ; 
When pen and ink the trembling kingdoms swept ; 

When sabres sliced the globe, by zones and climes ; 

When Germany's old clocks all learned French chimes ; 
When patriot cobblers gave the world their " Codes ;" 

When " Vive le peuple !" was the rhyme of rhymes ! — 
Till Laureats prosed once more their " Birthday Odes," 
And came the humdrum age, of Czars and Nesselrodes ! 



43 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO II. 

XVIII. 
/ always bet on thrones ; — they fall, like cats, 

On their four paws ! — they 'scape, like ducks, by diving ! 
Or, like your old cathedrals — spite of rats — 

Ten centuries of purple deans surviving ! 

Nay, like your bankrupts, by their ruin thriving ! — 
While commonwealths, however free and furious, 

Are smothered, once for all ; like hornets hiving ! 
Paying for power an interest usurious, — 
Blood, cent, per cent, ! I leave the problem to the " curious." 

XIX. 

I think republics are, like London fires, 

Got up, to help your u men of parts " to rob ! 
The blaze burns out its fuel, and expires, 

Just by the time the rogues have done the job, — 

(A fact at which I have no heart to sob !) 
Then, comes the Course of Nature, and a king ! 

As sure as Moslems love a hot kabob. 
The lucky knaves get rich — the luckless swing! 
Thus runs this mill-horse world, in one eternal ring ! 



canto II. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 49 

XX. 

THE JOURNEY. 
'Tis morn, bright morn ! Now rings the railway bell ! 

(You always choose the first-class, if you 're wise — 
A sixpence less may lay you in your shell !) 

The whistle screams, — away the convoy flies ! 

Dark forests, sunny hills, before me rise ; 
Still the fleet fire-horse gallops, snorts, and roars ! 

Plains vanish round me — flit above me skies ! 
I dart o'er rivers— plunge in tunnel-bores ! 
Counting the old slow leagues of lazy France, by scores ! 

XXI. 
Roads are a modern folly ! your bold Greeks 

Dashed right ahead, — up mountain and down dale ; 
Your ancient Britons, full of love and leeks ; 

Your Highland heroes, famed for war and kale ; 

Your grand Crusaders, strapped in holy mail, 
All marched, and fought, and robbed by waggon-loads ; 

Before the world saw either road or rail ! 
Yet, what is life ? says Lope, — " Roads, roads, roads ! " 
(I give the Spaniard's hints for Oxford's next " prize odes !") 



50 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO if. 

XXII. 
Love, (for example,) is a road of flowers ; 

(A creed in which I am a true believer ;) 
Marriage, a sunshine road, with some few showers ; 

Philosophy, (a road I travel never !) 

A palisadoed pathway for the " clever ;" 
Glory, an uphill road, with turnpikes many ; 

Ambition, a rough road, now frost, now fever ; 
Wealth, the sure road of every foreign zany, — 
(Thy pickpockets, John Bull, — slim dancers and soprani /) 

XXIII. 
Paris, adieu ! I breathe free air, at last! 

I spare the " gentle reader " my reflections, 
As round the " Grande Enceinte " my glance was cast, 

With its fierce Fifteen cannon-mouthed erections — 

Those fifteen charms for popular " affections !" 
" After her fever " Paris will sleep well, 

The St. Germains will have no more " detections," 
The St. Antoine will melt its tocsin-bell ; 
The mob turn monks, and France be one huge convent-cell ! 



canto II. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 51 

XXIV. 

Adieu ! — we fly by many a grim chateau, 
(Those things are showy, only in a novel,) 

In front, of withered elms a scrambling row, 

Where gipsy-donkeys graze, and beggars grovel — 
The building's self half prison and half hovel ; 

A long, bare wall, a sloping shattered roof; 
A porte cocherr, forgotten by the shovel ; 

An avenue unmarked by wheel or hoof: — 

It wants no rough gendarme, to bid me keep aloof! 

XXV. 

Well may Old England boast her good old Mansion — 
Cheerful yet stately, on its lake's broad marge ; 

(All, on the old-world system of expansion, 

Where everything, including hearts, was large ;) 

A lawn, where half the "household troops" might charge : 

A court-yard filled with groom, and horse, and hound ; 
A fountain, where an Admiralty-barge 

Might swim, or half the parish might be drowned — 

Health, wealth, and plenty stamped on everything around, 



52 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto if. 

XXVI. 

Of course, I had my share of fellow-travellers, 

Of every caste and colour, shape and stare ! 
(Women of all earth's riddles are unravellers:) 

A widow at my elbow (passing fair !) 

Whispered the secret story of a pair, 
Who just had joined us, in a gay barouche, 

The lady handsome, (with a sobered air ;) 
The man tall, thin, (a parson, by his slouch,) 
Yet, with a humorous eye — a quiet scaramouch ! 

XXVII. 
THE CHAPLAIN. 
A Curate lived ten years in Lancashire, 

Preaching on Sundays, patching weekly strife ; 
Making his humdrum rounds from squire to squire, 

Finding in every house a fork and knife, 

But no one ever offered him a wife. 
Though daily leading dozens to the altar, 

His case was plain, — a bachelor for life ! 
Hymen for him twined not the " rose-wreathed halter 
When lo ! — a huge dispatch, one morning, from Gibraltar 



CANTO if. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 53 

XXVIII. 
It told him, he was " Chaplain to the Rock/' 

The salary a " thousand pounds a year !" 
As if the world had picked his patent-lock, 

The tidings flew like wild-fire, far and near ; 

That he must marry, instantly was clear ! 
Parades, balls, picnic-parties, saffron skies, 

Were instantly in every heart and ear ! 
The Curate, to his infinite surprise, 
Found his lone state assailed by shoals of " pitying " eyes I 

XXIX. 

Nothing could equal his astonishment, 

At this soft dissolution, or love-thaw ! — 
Where had this flood of feeling all been pent ? 

Why, wore young romps such looks of tender awe ? 

Why shrews, in velvet sheathed the cat-like claw ? 
Why, flirts grew timid ? — faith was found in jilts ? 

Why, matrons' wills to maidens' wits gave law ? 
Why, rival belles, with hands upon their hilts, 
Where'er the Curate came, abjured their mutual tilts ? 



54 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto ir. 

XXX. 

Still, on he went, unconscious of the reason ; 

Stuffing with books and shirts his old valise. 
His cassock was the friend of many a season, 

But, not a soul had played the aunt or niece, 

To put on the old sarsenet a " new piece ! " 
His surplice, too, gave signs of many a rub ; 

His gown had nearly run out its long lease : 
When hark ! beside his door, a huge hubbub — 
Babel in petticoats !— the " County Spinsters' Club !" 

XXXI. 

The " President " performed a speech, all smiles ; 

The " Secretary " sighed a — " Resolution " 
That " as he soon must leave the British isles, 

The 'Spinsters,' true to ' Church and Constitution,' 

Had voted him a general contribution!" — 
A set of robes, of genuine mazarine ; 

A surplice, that would stand a life's ablution : 
Never had country church such cambric seen ; 
The "trousseau" would have charmed a chaplain to the 
Queen ! 



CANTO II THE MODERN ORLANDO. 55 

XXXII. 
He bowed, they curtseyed, sighed, and slipped away ; 

Each shooting from her eye a Parthian arrow. 
The robes before the grateful Curate lay ; 

He thought his old valise was growing narrow. 

Again, a knock ! — a porter with a barrow ; 
Who hung forthwith upon his kitchen hooks 

The youngest-born of Lady Bull's prize-farrow ! 
Another knock ! — three belles, with three " blue " books, 
fThe rector's daughters,) begged his " photographic " looks. 

XXXIII. 
Morn dawned in red, eve died in purple gloom ; 

Still, at his cottage door were heard the knocks ; 
The presents now had scarcely standing-room. 

In poured fresh pigs, fresh pullets, tamboured stocks : 

The prettiest desks, with Cupids on their locks : 
Jams, pickles, sea-sick nostrums, netted purses ; 

Landscapes, with worsted shepherds and their flocks ; 
Tracts for ail sins — nay, patent-spoons for nurses ! 
(Hints of that state, where all — for " better, or for worse" is.) 



56 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO II. 

XXXIV. 

As time grew short, the presents came in quicker : 

Never ate Curate such a round of dinners; 
Turtle his daily soup, champagne his liquor, 

At whist, without a trump, his cards were winners ! 

Never did saint convert so many sinners ! 
Bright glances in Madonna caps were furled ; 

Pretty coquettes did penance in lawn pinners : 
All round the county, ringlets were uncurled ; 
Girls " of all ages " cut this ultra-wicked world ! 

XXXV. 

The Curate much enjoyed this kind of life, 

Venison, says Grimod, " est de bonne comestion" 

But, still, he had not fixed upon a wife. 

The point was, now, to make him " pop the question," 
Before his Reverence died of indigestion ; 

For, though in both the blue and red Professions, 
An Alexander would have shot Hephsestion, 

For tempting Spinster's eyes to — w indiscretions ; " 

The black are free of lead ; steel mulcts not their trans- 
gressions. 



CANTO II. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 57 

XXXVI. 
At length, came one, to whom the Curate's eyes 

Had raised, in earlier days, their distant glances: 
As boys will gaze on stars in evening skies.) 

The lady-fair had laughed at all his trances; 

Yet time had scarcely cooled his old romances. 
The handsome girl was now a showy widow, 

Well jointured, first at dinners, plays, and dances ; 
She dropped Queen Bess at once, took up Queen Dido ; 
Made up her mind, to wed — and pounced on w Pastor Fido." 

XXXVII. 
She owned — " she always wished to be his wife ; 

Not that she cared an atom for the clime ; 
Where every sort of idleness was life, 

And six battalions only killed the time ; 

In fact, she thought those things a kind of crime !" 
The Curate whispered, " Wait for the Gazette," 

A thought with which " her feelings scorned " to chime. 
(The spinsters at him making a " dead set,") 
They married! — " Rosebud Bower" was instantly, "to let!"' 



58 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO II. 



XXXVIII. 
She wrote to the Horse-guards ; her pile of trunks 

Lay ready-corded for the famous Strait, 
Which sweeps with scornful surge the " Land of Monks ; " 

Her bandboxes had grown a steamer's freight ! 

" No answer yet ! That Post was always late ! " 
The answer came ; 't was courteously expressed : 

" His Grace's compliments/' — " was grieved to state, 
" That the appointment was some coxcomb's jest !" 
Who made it, ne'er was known — perhaps the Curate guessed. 



NOTES TO CANTO II. 



Page 38, line 2. 
Adieu Vatel. 
Xot the celebrated publicist of Dresden, but the celebrated cook, 
who, having omitted salt in one of the soups which he had sent up 
to his noble master's table, ran himself through the lungs, and died 
a sacrifice to the honour of the profession. (See Madame de Sevigne's 
condolences.) His fame has outlived that of many a hero :— it is 
fresh after a hundred years, — and flourishing in one of the most 
showy establishments of Paris. 

Page 38, line 17. 
Once sat Dubarry, 
The memorable Countess Dubarry. Beginning her career in 
circumstances at once the most humble and the most notorious, she 
at length became the Sovereign of the Sovereign ; finally perishing 
by the guillotine. Strangely unlucky ! even her vices could not 
save her in the Revolution. 

Page 41, line 2. 
The old gay Deipnosophist. 
Athenaeus the Egyptian ; called by the ancients the Greek Varro. 
The moderns would have called him the Greek Boswell. 

Page 41, line 9. 

La Manche. 
The Channel. 

Page 41, line 10. 

Old priest of Jove, 

The authentic origin of the mutton-chop. — See Pliny. 

Page 42, line 4. 
Thy group of chieftains. 
All the heroes of the Iliad cooked their own rations. Napoleon 
thought that a cooking was the true element of conquest." Wei- 



60 NOTES TO CANTO II. 

lington said of Indian war : — s< That bullocks and rice gained the 
battle." Both high authorities. The roast-beef of Old England has 
been the root of many a laurel. It has a right to complain of not 
having a place in the National Arms. 

Page 43, line 10. 
The Palais Royal. 
The Palais Royal, built by Cardinal Richelieu ; for some time, the 
residence of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV. It afterwards became the 
property of the Orleans family ; and, as the central promenade of 
Paris, was the chief scene of mob movements, at the commencement 
of the Revolution. 

Page 47, line 17. 

Yet what is Life ? says Lope. 
Lope de la Vega, the most voluminous author of Spain, the wit- 
tiest, next to Cervantes ; and the most rapid in the world. He wrote 
a play a week, and a poem a day : with now and then a three volume 
novel, to fill up the time ! Lope presents a contradiction to the 
theory, that poets should begin young. He commenced authorship 
close on fifty; but he had the true education for a national poet. 
He had seen life in all its most showy varieties ; had been familiar 
with the Spanish Court, at the time when, under Philip the Second, 
it led Europe ; was traveller, soldier, seaman ; but, at length, as if 
to see life in a totally different aspect, he turned Franciscan ! then 
turned fool, and starved himself into saintship, and out of the 
world ! 

Page 4G, line 16. 

A hot kabob. 
A mutton-chop. 

Page 48, line 13. 
Fifteen cannon-mouthed erections. 
The fortifications of Paris against itself. 

Page 51, line 1. 
" the Rock." 
The common name for Gibraltar. 

Page 54, line 11. 
" Venison" says Grimod. 

Almanach des Gourmands. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 61 



CANTO III. 

THE FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU THE GRAND VENEUR— 

THE PALACE TALLEYRAND THE WIDOW NAPOLEON^ 

CHAMBER PORT VENASQUE MONT d'oR CLERMONT. 

I. 

Mine is no Clio, stalking from the study ! 

My Muse must be a sister of the Graces ; 
A little wild perhaps, — rose-cheeked (not ruddy) — 

A summer-bird, — a fawn in all her paces, 

Darting her brilliant eyes in all odd places ; 
Yet, capable of tears, — -just one, or tw r o, 

(Such drops as eve on closing blossoms traces) 
That tell you of the tender and the true, 
But, mark, no floods for me ; mine must be bright — and few/ 



6'2 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO III. 

II. 

Tourists ! observe — if you would fill my shelves, 

I care not sixpence for Madonna's eyes : 
Feed me with facts, give pictures of ourselves. 

I tire of " Raphael's grace," and " Titian's dyes ! " 

Annihilate, for once, your " orange skies ; " 
Give me, however rough, the stamp of life, 

The hearts strong throbs, the soul, without disguise. 
(N. B.) — No history of your child, or wife ; 
With such I am at war — aye, " even to the knife." 

III. 
Give me live men and women, thoughts and things ; 

No sentiment — (to turtles leave their cooing) — 
No politics ; I honour all Earth's Kings, 

(Nor care this ink-drop, what they all are brewing;) 

No scraps from your blue books, I hate all blueing. 
But, give me wit, opinion, character, 

The only game that I think worth pursuing ; 
Show me the leading spirits of our sphere — 
Those are the sights to see — those are the sounds to hear. 



CANTO III. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 63 



IV. 

THE EOEEST. 
"lis pleasant, bowling o'er those old French roads, 

When summer lets you gallop " off the stones ; " 
It much the spirit of its cares unloads, 

To travel without fear of broken bones ! 

And, hark ! how sweet those distant city-tones ! 
Those chiming bells upon the wavering breeze, 

As up the hill our straining axle groans : 
And now, the landscape, opening by degrees, 
Shows royal roofs, amidst a wilderness of trees. 

V. 
I always liked thee, France, and loved thy belles, 

Them for their dress, and thee for thy midress : 
I liked thee for thy open hills and dells, 

(Not for thy Habeas Corpus' and Free Press, — 

With those thou 'rt always sure to make a mess.) 
'Tis true, thou hast not England's woodbine cots, 

Nor her sweet girls' blue eye and auburn tress : — 
But then — thou hast not England's landscape-blots, — 
Her sullen factory smokes, and " Land in building lots." 



64 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO III. 

VI. 

England, ere half a century has flown, 

Thou 'It be all brickwork ! chimneys all thy shade ! 
Thine only breezes, from their funnels blown : 

Grass in Museums, twenty pounds a blade ! 

The Island one Bazaar, — one black Arcade: — 
No river but Fleet-ditch, — no evening air, — 

No plough, no lark, no tree, no nut-brown maid, — 
No vale, no hill, — all brick, no room to spare, — 
One London-suburb all, — all grim as Grosvenor Square. 

VII. 
Thine is indeed a Forest, Fontainebleau ! 

Where lovely Nature has her " own sweet will :" 
('Twas now in all the summer's golden glow.) — 

Ho vV nobly soars in light yon oak-crowned hill ! 

How richly larch and ash these valleys fill, 
Empurpled with the tinging of the year : 

All stillness, save the rushing of the rill, 
That from its fissured rock bursts cool and clear, — 
Or watch-dog's distant bark, — or bray of browsing deer. 



canto III. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 65 

VIII. 

As on we roll, 'tis one delicious Wild, 

With soft, green glades, between the tall, old trees ; 
Gleaming in sunny tufts, like velvet piled 

With knots of primrose and anemones, 

And many a blossomed plant, beloved of bees : 
And, with broad gaze upon the setting sun, 

Huge, quiet cattle, couching at their ease : 

Or stag, lone stalking through the copses dun : 

But, hush ! what means this Stone, which all the peasants 

shun ? 

IX. 

THE GEAXD TEXEUE. 
'Twas in this very spot, that Henri Quatre 

Had his day's hunting with the " Grand Veneur.*' 
Whence came that huntsman, now is no great matter ; 

Henri himself was not a " Simon pure," 

He just had flung his falcon from the lure, 
When burst a furious din of horns and hounds : 

Off flew his grooms, the culprits to secure, 
And fine them royally for breaking bounds. 
Nothing annoys the great, like poaching on their grounds ! 



66 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO in. 

X. 

Within five seconds, galloped up the hunt — 
Five hundred riders grim, on steeds of fire ! 

The Grand Veneur, jackbooted, in their front, 
Some ten feet high ! his horse, too, a highflyer, 
Champing hot coals — his tail a lightning-spire ! 

" Henri !" he cried, "come, hunt in forest style." 
Upsprang a stag — they dashed o'er brake and briar ! 

Beginning sloiv — a minute to a mile ! 

Calmly the Grand Veneur conversing all the while. 

XL 
" No secrets, Monsieur Henri, among friends : 

The world 's a jest, and you have had your sport ; 
Your carnival on this day twelvemonth ends ; 

La Gabrielle must take her leave of court ! " — 

The Grand Veneur's black charger gave a snort ; 
A general laugh ran round the grisly ring, 

That sounded like a culverin's report. 
— " We leave the honest fools to drown, or swing, 
The renegade we push, and make him pope — or king? 



canto ill. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 67 

XII. 

The pace grew faster — talk of breeze or wing ! 

Hill, vale, and river vanished at a stride ! 
France had few bolder riders than the king ; 

Yet never king less liked his morning's ride. 

Noon came, the sun his velvet doublet fried ; 
Eve came, he felt its dullness tenfold chill : 

The Grand Veneur still galloped by his side ! 
(Kings, now and then, must bolt a bitter pill : 
That huntsman had been hanged, had Henri but his will !) 

XIII. 
Still, rang the horn ; still, whip and spur were plied ; 

Still, the pale monarch held his wild career ; 
Still, rode the fearful Huntsman by his side ! 

And now the stars began to glisten clear : 

Still, through the forest bounded the Jiend deer ! 
At length, some torches faint and distant shone ; 

A funeral anthem thrill'd on Henri's ear ! 
" 'Tis Coligni's ! he perished for your throne," 
Whispered the Grand Veneur, — the answer was a groan ! 



68 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO in. 

XIV. 

'Twas midnight ! — still, that wild-hunt's whirlwind rush 

Burst o'er the mountain-brow and down the dell ! 
At once the tumult died ! — the breeze's gush, 

The only sound upon his ear that fell. 

But hark ! the tolling of a tocsin-bell ! — 
Henri was brave, and yet his blood ran cold ; 

Then rose a clash of arms ; a sudden yell ! 
And loud and louder still, along the wold, 
The sounds of terror, fight, and massacre, were rolled ! 

XV. 

Above the forest swept a sheet of flame ! 

And by its glare they saw a city's wall, 
Whence the deep uproar of that struggle came ; 

Shrieks, mingled with the drum, and trumpet-call ! 

And now, they rode by mansions old and tall ; 
While round their fearful march poured spectre crowds ; 

Some battling in an ancient Palace hall ; 
Some from its casements flung, in gory shrouds ; 
Till pealed the bell once more, and all were lost in clouds ! 



canto in. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 69 



XVI. 

Away, away ! again, in storm they flew ! 

" Know'st thou that bell?" the sneering huntsman cried. 
" I heard it — on the St. Bartholomew," 

Murmured the king. — "Now, Henri, thank thy guide ! " — 

" Thank him ! " was echoed through the forest wide. 
The demon in his pallid visage grinned : 

" 'Twas / that launched thy galley on the tide ; 
'Twas I that bade thee sin, — and thou hast sinn'd. 
A throne was in the scales ! and what are oaths but wind ?" 

XVII. 
For aught I know, they might be hunting yet, 

Had not a puff of sulphur filled the gale ; 
The Grand Veneur pulled off his plumed berette, 

And bowed to one, the palest of the pale, 

A monk, in shirt of hair, (Rome's ancient mail.) 
Jumping for joy, around him bounced the pack, 

(All fiends !) all barking, wagging head and tail, 
In spite of many a warning kick and crack. 
The grisly riders roared : " Bien vena, Ravaillac /" 



70 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO in. 

XVIII. 

The rest I offer merely as conjecture ; 

His grooms found Henri by an old oak's trunk, 
Like one recovering from a curtain-lecture. 

(No pleasant thing, from either wife or monk ;) 

The grooms (respectfully) supposed him drunk ! — 
He ordered, for a twelvemonth and a day, 

That from all France his hunting should be sunk. 
The day arrived, and all, but lie, were gay : 
He saw that monk again ! — one blow — the king was clay ! 

XIX. 
FONTAINEBLEAU. 
The town — but, who on earth can bear French towns ? 

All dust in sunshine, and in showers all slime. — 
The Palace ! — famous for upsetting crowns — 

A mass of lumber, even in its prime, 

Now (like the world) not much improved by time: 
Loaded with noseless Greek and Roman things, 

(By much too heavy for my light-heeled rhyme,) 
I leave them to the " Patent muse," which sings, 
(For sack and sixpences) of Levees, stars, and strings ! 



CANTO IIT. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 71 

XX. 

I keep my raptures for its knaves " Illustrious ! * 

Its hearts of steel, and consciences of stone. 
(Not quite a pupil of the " school" industrious, 

Which Itemizes James, and saints Pope Joan) 

Philip, (the genius) Father of the Loan. 
(How lucky that the " set " are not alive all ! 

Each thundering over Europe from his throne.) 
Francis the lewd ; grim Charles, his bigot-rival : — 
Ye sepulchres, hold fast — Heaven spare us the revival ! 

XXI. 
Here winds the " Galerie " where fierce Christina 

Minced Monsieur Monaldeschi for his treason — 
(Id est, for telling stories of Regina, — 

Queen-gossip being always out of season,) 

So, three assassins brought him to his reason ! 
Here, monks and mummers settled State affairs; 

Here Mazarin pilfered all that he could seize on ; 
Here priests said many a thing, besides their prayers : 
And princes, dukes, and counts, all ran up the back-stairs ! 



72 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO III. 



XXII. 
Not that I much abhor those picture galleries, 

With all their mob, of monarchs, counts, and knights ; 
Statesmen, whose broidered mantles cost their salaries ; 

Grand Goths, beneath whose feet we move like mites ; 

Grim maids of honour, (Nature's stateliest frights,) 
Frowning from casement, or portcullis arched, 

Crowned with toupets of " regulation " heights, 
Stiff, to the life, as when at court they marched ; 
Awfully furbelowed, magnificently starched ! 

XXIII. 
One asks by instinct — Ye terrific maids ! 

Could those vast stomachers hide human hearts ? 
Were ever bulwarks like those shoulder-blades ? 

Were not those breast-bones proof to Cupid's arts ? 

Those ruffs alone might blunt ten thousand darts ! 
With iron for your nerves, and stones for eyes, 

What were ye ? — mummies, galvanized by starts ! 
Chevaux-de-frised against all heart-surprise ! 
Incapable of smiles — insensible to sighs ! 



canto ill. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 73 

XXIV. 

There frowns thy speaking picture; Machiavelli, 

Thou true Italian Mephistophiles ! 
(Like arsenic in a plate of vermicelli,) 

Teaching the world to poison at its ease ! — 

If monarchs pant their people's purse to squeeze, 
If Satan urge his slaves, to thrones to climb ; 

Or monks, to filch tiaras on their knees ; 
Thy volume is the villain's " true sublime, 5 ' 
Thy cup the tempter's cup, its vrine essential crime ! 

XXV. 

Whose is that visage, sportive, yet severe ; 

That lip of laughter, yet those piercing eyes ; 
That brow so bright, yet care-worn ? — Ah, Moliere ! 

I see the hand, that stripped the soul's disguise, 

Forced monks to feel, and monarchs to be wise : 
Dared the court-whisper, and the Jesuit's knife ; 

Yet (all we honour, all that we despise,) 
Leading, poor fool, an ultra-henpecked life, 
And dying on the stage ! Verdict — " A dashing wife !" 



74 THE MODERN ORLANDO, 



CANTO III. 



XXVI. 

One place is vacant, which but one can fill. 

Prince of imperial craftsmen, Talleyrand ! 
Where is thy cold grey eye, thy visage chill, 

Thy sneering lip, thy smile supremely bland ? 

Thou first and last of that Imperial band, 
Who swindled monarchs, mobs, and all mankind ! 

Thy craft, so sweeping, that 't was almost grand ! 
Thy galley making way with every wind, 
Shunning all rocks and shoals, yet never left behind ! 

XXVII. 
Yes ! 't was delightful, from thy features placid, 

To see such firefly sparks of satire dart ! 
Thy wit a drop of death — pure prussic acid — - 

A flash of lightning, killing without smart ! 

Tell me, thou man of brain without a heart — - 
Prince Scapin ! in what courtly escritoire 

Hast thou locked up thy never-failing chart, 
That steered thee safe through council, and boudoir ; 
Till France's blazing torch was buried in the Loire ? 



CANTO ill. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 75 

XXVIII. 

France has for thee no rival — Rome but Sylla ; 

Yet, strip the classic gilding from the name, 
What was his lazy life, his Baian villa, 

His Senate, craving for the bread of shame, 

To thy keen course, through France's tide of flame ; 
Thy path, beset with faction's serpent-stings ? 

Thine was the longer and the harder game, — 
When Europe's thrones were made the tombs of kings, 
But politics, avaunt ! — I turn to wedding-rings ! 

XXIX. 

THE WIDOW. 
Legendre was a General of Division ; 

Had stoutly won his aiguillettes and crosses ; 
Performed the " grand manoeuvres " with precision ; 

Left his right leg in Dantzic's frozen fosses ; 

At Borodino dropped his bold proboscis ; 
At Moscow was half roasted, like a hero ; 

But, as few generals can live on mosses, 
When " VEmperew* " performed the modern Pharoah, 
He died in the retreat (thermometer at zero). 

e2 



76 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO III. 



XXX. 

His widow — a young, bright-eyed Paris thing : 

Pined, in the prettiest mourning, for her mate ; 
For a whole week, would neither dance nor sing ; 

Looked on the sunny world with special hate ; 

Nay, talked of flying to a convent-grate ! 
At last she wrote — she " owned, ? t was with a qualm " — 

To Talleyrand, then Minister of State, 
To ask a pension — " death must be her balm." 
The billet was returned, endorsed — " Helas! madame /" 

XXXI. 

The General's aide-de-camp arrived in France, 

Monsieur Auguste-Achille de Battleaxe ! 
A showy fellow, with a laughing glance. 

He brought the Will — the widow broke the wax ; 

It left her rich ! — his heart took fire, like flax ! 
The pretty veuve soon asked — without " a qualm " — 

A pension for her slayer of Cossacks, — 
Her, "brave Achille," — " Le mari de son ame" 
The billet was returned, endorsed — w Ho, ho, madame /" 



canto Hi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 77 

XXXII. 
THE CHAMBEE. 

One glance at thy bronze bust, Napoleon ! 

Ere all are hurried from the little room, 
Where Europe's lord was tumbled from his throne. 

There stands his couch; — the table, hid in gloom, 

Where his own pallid fingers signed his doom ; 
The chair, in agony of spirit scored : 

King-maker ! I ask not, ivhere stands thy tomb ? 
Though thousands round it wept, or cannon roared. 
Here was Napoleon's tomb ; here vanished crown and sword ! 

XXXIII. 

I am not " playing moralist ; " and yet, 

Where has the world a teacher — like that bust ? 
Why, shall the heart through half a century fret, 

Stake life, and love, and peace — to turn to dust ? 

Like thee, if mighty, from a throne be thrust, 
The scoff and victim of its ransomed slaves ! 

If lowly, take posterity on trust, 
Dream dreams, build castles upon winds and waves, 
And, after all — he down among earth's wormy graves. 



78 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto Iir. 

XXXIV. 
AUVEEGNE. 
With four post-horses, one can go at speed 

Through Surrey, or Siberia, vale or hill. 
I spare the world the tidings — where I feed, 

At night am fed upon, or tax my bill : 

t€ To all men be it known," — I don't stand still. 
At length I reach a land of fog and fern, 

The plain's hot gusts are growing cold and shrill ; 
The beggars thicken ; — signs from which I learn, 
That round me frown the hills of thy bleak soil, Auvergne. 

XXXV. 

PORT VENASQUE. 
I wonder at the taste for scaling mountains, 

(A question once I never stopped to ask,) 
To watch where glaciers trickle into fountains, 

Sunburning all your visage like a mask. 

I still remember clambering Port Venasque, 
The toughest trip among the Pyrenees. 

When I had hoped in Spanish suns to bask, 
My only gain — to starve, and thirst, and freeze — 
To, nearly break my neck, and break my donkey's knees ! 



canto in. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 79 

XXXVI. 

The morning fixed (of course) began with fog, 

('Tis always thus upon your pic-nic days,) 
But, up we moved ; first, floundered through a bog. 

Then, at the "Hospice de Bagneres," missed stays! 

There, 'tis the etiquette to stand and gaze, 
Though blight and barrenness make all the show ! 

Our mules were wiser, for they tried to graze. 
All, to the top, thenceforth was rock and snow, — 
Still on we dragged our steps, wet, weary, sad, and slow. 

XXXVII. 
We had six ladies ! carried up in chairs, 

(The charming sex are fond of " seeing sights ; ") 
Our road resembled much those corkscrew stairs 

Where one false step may send you twenty flights ; 

But then — the picturesque! " What shades ! what lights ! 
What blues and yellows down the mountain's side ! " 

Our heroines six, however, looked like sprites ! 
My restiff mule soon made an awful slide — 
Two thousand feet of gulf were just within a stride ! 



80 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO ill. 

XXXVIII. 

Still, up we toiled, each moment growing colder, 
Tugging and flogging at our recreant cattle ; 

Each heroine with a rawboned clown for " holder." 
At last, with roarings like a distant battle, 
A tempest through the rocks began to rattle ; 

And on the spot where all should be delighted — 
" Spain at our feet," so runs the tourist's prattle, 

A haze rushed up, in which we were benighted, 

All shivering, weeping some, some furious, all affrighted. 

XXXIX. 

True, we had comfort ; — for our guides all swore, 
The fog " above a fortnight seldom lasted ! " 

" Great news" for those, who, roused at half- past four, 
To " see the sun-rise ! " since that hour had fasted. — 
The tempest, more and more, yelled, blazed, and blasted ; 

Freezing the very brandy in our flask : 

Off went our little tent, down-hill, dismasted ; 

Down rolled my hapless donkey, like a cask — 

Thanks to the moon, at last, we 'scaped from Port Venasque. 



CANTO ill. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 81 

XL. 
MONT DOE. 
Philosophers pronounce Auvergne volcanic, — 

I only know, its roads like goat-tracks twist, 
Keeping one's limbs in everlasting panic ; 

And being no " profound geologist/' 

And caring not a straw for chalk, or schist, 
I only wish, these hills icould make a blaze, 

Or anything, to make them look less triste, — 
Or, that some earthquake would but "mend their ways, 5 ' 
For, here I broke the pole of my new English chaise. 

XLI. 
And so, some thousand years ago, those mounts, 

Gigantic bald-heads, patriarchal sires, 
Were all alive and roaring, — furnace-founts ! 

Those tall gray pinnacles were naming spires ! — 

Here was the scene for those that " fast in fires," 
For pagan-spell, and Druid incantation ; 

Blazing through night and storm, like funeral pyres, 

A hundred miles of mountain conflagration 

Were just the " case in point " — for earth's most firework 

nation ! 

b3 



82 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO III. 

XLII. 

* 

I often long for some Artesian borer ; 

To pierce ten thousand miles beneath the ocean, 
And fathom out the secrets of each roarer, — 

To know, what puts old iEtna in commotion, — 

Where grim Vesuvius drinks her lava-potion, — 
What moves pale Hecla's entrails, at the Pole, 

Melting the icebergs with her " tepid lotion," — 
What depths of liquid iron, beds of coal, 
Beneath man's foolish feet their blazing billows roll. 

XLIII. 
I 'm all " Utilitarian !" Think, how grand ! 

To hold a central " Hall of Inquisition," 
And turn my fire-spout on each culprit land,— 

Filling its cellarage with "pure ignition!" 

France, what a lesson to thy spruce ambition ! 
To grill and roast thee, spite of all thy smiles : 

Broiling thy viscera into contrition, — 
Turning to smoke and dust thy palace-piles, 
For thy late slippery tricks in poor Pomare's Isles. 



canto Hi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 83 

XLIV. 

CLERMONT. 
I galloped on through Clermont. Who would stop 

Among its grass-grown streets and dismal inns ? 
Yet here was raised, of old, Rome's richest crop ; 

The field is shown ('tis now a field of whins) 

Once thick with princes, priests, and paladins. 
When Urban sat on Europe's proudest throne, 

Giving the world remission for all sins,— 
And Hermit Peter raised the Gonfalon : 
Madman and Saint !— I grieve, those showy days are done. 

XLV. 
One truth is plain, — our Nature loves a bustle ;— 

Once, it was battle, murder, and crusades,— 
Next, plumes and petticoats began to rustle, 

And Tournaments employed Toledo blades,— 

The world then yawned to death those grim parades. 
And turned to loving, and the Troubadours ; 

Then, all was Petrarch and his myrtle-shades— 
France, next, gave law in chansons and amours, 
'Till came, John Bull, thy " Age," of tunnels, and of tours. 



84 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO III. 

XLVI. 

Those were gay days ! the world has since grown stupid : 
Taxes and time have banished all romance ; 

The Chancellor now plays the part of Cupid, — 
Parchment performs the business of a lance, — 
No chargers now in broidered housings prance, — 

No gallant knights bow down to " gentle dames ; " 

Hearts now have but one homage — the Main-chance, — - 

Gold, gas, and coal, now furnish all our flames : — ■ 

The case is much the same on Danube, Seine, and Thames. 

XLVII. 
All men hate idleness, yet love to idle. 

(I '11 try the " Market" with a New Crusade, — 
The Scrip would rise !) — Those days of spur and bridle, 

Of chief and clan, of banner and of blade, 

Furnished much gossip, feasting, verse, and trade, — 
Fashion itself had something then to do. 

'Tis pity, that the spirit has been laid, — 
At least, our " noble lords " the change may rue 
That ties them down for life to Clubs and the Battue. 



CANTO IIT. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 85 



XL VTII. 

THE CLUB. 
I own, (in confidence), / like the Clubs, — 

" Only for bachelors," exclaim the fair, — 
/ say, " for matrimony and its rubs. " 

You take your cab, and reach St. James's Square ; 

Find all your old Allies assembled there ; 
French mirrors, Grecian lamps around you shine ; 

You hear the gossip, chuse a fireside chair, — 
Order your cutlet, friend, and favourite wine : 
(Acknowledged; that all Clubs are not bon ton, like mine.) 

XLIX. 
In London, we have men, who live like moles ; 

(Thinking themselves earth's sages, all the while;) 
Knowing as much of life, as of the poles. 

With the West-end all round them, mile on mile ; 

Their very years are reckoned by " Old Style ; " 
To them, the world has slumbered, since Queen Anne ; 

Walpole is still, the " Saviour of the Isle ; " 
Women are hideous, without hoop and fan ; 
Powder, stiff-skirts, rappee, and bagwigs " make the man ! " 



86 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO III. 



L. 

A set of those, (no matter where) one night 

Were seated, prosing, at their monthly dinner ; 

A stranger took his seat ; (unknown by sight. 

The owls all stared, and wished their club were thinner : ) 
He broke the ice ; talked out, of saint and sinner ; 

Chatted all sorts of pleasant, passing things,— 
The Levee, Opera, the Newmarket winner ; 

Told tales, as light as flies, (and some ivith stings), 

Gay Windsor silhouettes of beauties, Peers and Kings ! 

LL 
All were delighted — all was a new world, 

As followed mot on mot, and hit on hit ! 
No grumbler, for that night, his nostrils curled ; 

None quoted " Garrick's pun," or " Wilkes's wit." 

None bored, on Mister Fox, or Mister Pitt ; 
None "brought up" Eton tricks, or Person's "scanning.'' 

At last, they saw the brilliant stranger flit : 
All asked — " Who thus their sculls had been trepanning? " 
The Waiter was called in — the Stranger was George 
Canning ! 



NOTES TO CANTO 1IL 



Page 61, line 3. 
Off the stones. 
The old French highways in general have a triple division.— -The 
middle road, paved, for winter- travelling ; the two side roads, clay, 
for summer- travelling. 

Page 62, line 10. 
Thine is indeed a forest, Fontainebleau. 
Almost the only royal forest in France, which has net been spoiled 
by royal taste. A large portion of it has been stript of its trees, but 
enough remains, to make it one of the noblest of European hunting- 
grounds. In France, forest-trees are seldom allowed to grow to 
their natural size ; but here are some noble specimens. The cruelty 
of hunting is beginning to be felt even in France ; and since the 
foolish days of the last Bourbon, public hunting has been scarcely 
resumed. The idea of making sport of the agonies of the inferior 
creation is fortunately beginning to be regarded by the educated 
classes of all countries, as not merely a frivolous and vulgar waste of 
time — a coarse and brutish pursuit of a clownish enjoyment — but an 
actual crime. 

Page 63, line 9. 
The Stone which all the peasants shun. 
" La Croix du Grand Veneur," is an obelisk marking the spot 
where the Demon of the Forest— the Black Huntsman — was said to 



88 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

have met Henry IV., and predicted his assassination. The king's 
change of religion ; after the sacrifices undergone by the French 
Protestants to place him at the head of Protestantism in France, 
was a lasting source of discord ; and it was remarked by them, that 
his fall by the hand of a monk, was in some degree a just punishment 
for his desertion to the religion of Rome. His apostacy was never 
forgiven. 

Page 65, line 17. 
'Tis Colignts. 
The famous leader of the Protestants. He perished in the mas- 
sacre of St. Bartholomew. 

Page 66, line 5. 
The tocsin-bell. 
The signal rung at midnight from the church of St. Germain, in 
Paris, for the assassination of the Protestants. 

Page 67, line 18. 
Bien venu. 

" Welcome." Ravaillac, a monk, who had adopted a variety of 
professions, at last determined to signalize himself by stabbing the 
king. An impression had been prevalent amongst the populace, 
that Henry was again about to change his religion, and make war 
on the Pope. On the 14th of May, 1610, Ravaillac struck him 
to the heart. 

Page 68, line 13. 
The palace famous for upsetting crowns. 
The " Cabinet de Travail " of Napoleon exhibits the table at 
which he signed his abdication, in 1814. The Galerie des Cerfs 
was the scene of the murder of Monaldeschi, by order of Christina, 
Queen of Sweden, in 1657. He was her high-chamberlain; and 
the alleged cause was the betrayal of some domestic secrets. 

Fontainebleau was remarkable for the residence of historic per- 
sonages. Philippe de Bel, the first who raised Loans, lived here ; 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 89 

the Emperor Charles V. was entertained here by Francis I. ; Anne 
of Austria, when Regent, made it her temporary residence, &c. &c. 

Page 71, line 1. 
Machiavelli. 

The famous author of the u Del Principe," or the Maxims of 
Caesar Borgia, the most barefaced villain since Nero ; and the 
maxims are worthy of the man. The attempts made to represent 
this atrocious work as a satire are trifling. It is obviously the genuine 
code of an Italian public man of his day ; and it has not been without 
exemplars in every day since. Yet Machiavelli had once been sent 
to the rack; a recollection, which might have fairly cured him of 
his taste for tyranny ; but the demon was within. Poet, politician, 
and historian, he was evidently a man of versatile and vigorous 
faculties. But the writer of the "Del Principe" ought to have 
died on the scaffold. 

Page 71, line 10. 
Whose is that visage, sportive yet severe ? 
Moliere, beyond all comparison the greatest comic writer of 
France; rendered himself the burlesque of France by his matrimonial 
absurdities. Always in love with somebody or other, his successive 
wives ran away from him; and he at last dropped dead, while 
performing in one of his own comedies, his heart broken by the 
misconduct of a coquettish spouse. 

Page 72, line 2. 
Talleyrand. 

The most astute man of his time. The true wonder of his career 
is, not that, though a noble and a bishop, he rose to the highest 
employments in an infidel revolution ; but that he kept his head on 
his shoulders at a period when the guillotine was the " natural death * 
of Frenchmen. His early wealth, and his political frigidity, probably 
alike saved him. The one procured protectors, the other precluded 
partisanship. The factions were too busy in tearing down enemies 



90 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

to trample on neutrals, His memorable maxim, that " zeal and 
devotion are the two most dangerous qualities for public men," was 
exemplified in the success of his career. But if false, what a libel 
on statesmanship ; if true, what a scandal to human nature ! 

Page 75, line 7. 
The chair, in agony of spirit scored. 
The arm of the chair in which Napoleon signed his abdication, was 
deeply cut with his penknife, in the nervousness of that terrible 
hour. 

Page 76, line 9. 
That round me frown the hills. 
Auvergne, the " Campi Phlegraei " of France, sterile from the 
poverty of its people, and the sufferings of the province, in the 
Revocation of the Edict; but a noble subject for the man of science, 
and a still nobler one for the historian. There are instances in the 
war of the Cevennes, which might be remembered, beside Marathon 
and Thermopylje. 

Page 76, line 10. 

Port Venasque. 

One of the steepest passes of the Pyrenees ; from whose summit is 

an extensive view, and a single step places the spectator in Spain. 

The ascent is a favourite performance of the tourists from the 

watering places on the French border. 

Page 83, line 11. 

Men who live like moles. 

The circumstance in the verse actually occurred in a club near 

St. James's. To heighten the burlesque, Canning was at that time 

in the full glow of public life, and perhaps the best known of any 

man in London. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 91 



CANTO IV. 

LYONS— THE NOTRE DAME— ST. JANUARIUS— ALE- 
COUNT ISIDORE. 

I. 

LYOXS. 
Lyons! I gave five minutes to thv "sights." 

How calm the showy termagant has grown ! 
'Tis true, she has some " espions " on her heights. 

Giving the haughty Lady of the Rhone 

Strong hints of duty to the " Three-days' throne." 
Stout fortresses, though yet not quite Fifteen, 

Yet quite enough, to make a bridal zone, 
Stiff as her bouncing sister's by the Seine : 
Gay France must always have the gun — or guillotine ! 



92 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO IV. 



II. 

Lyons is Paris, Parised; doubly French ! 

Bold, bustling, busy, — dingy, dismal, dear, — 
Buried in hills, the city's self a trench ; 

So much the worse for nostril, eye, and ear. 

I climbed that mountain ladder the Fouvriere, 
Taking its bird's-eye view of streets and ports, — 

Furious Croix-Rousse, and gory Guillotiere, — 
Besides those pretty playthings, the New Forts, 
Teaching the weaver-tribes the due respect for Courts. 

III. 
Yet, care not I for " memorable spots," 

Where massacre has heaped its human mound ; 
Nor care much more for Roman mustard-pots, 

Or lying epitaphs to rogues renowned ; 

Still, one old spot, well worth them all, I found, 
Where once Poetic Justice reared its altar ; 

The Athenaeum, Gallia's " rhymers' pound," 
Where fools, who with the Muses dared to palter, 
Were bastinadoed, pumped, or settled with the halter ! 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 93 

IV. 

Caligula ! the brilliant thought was thine ; 

Tyrant, or madman, this redeemed thy fame ; 
Attorney-general of the injured Nine ; 

Supreme preserver of Apollo's game ! 

Laying in chains the twaddling and the tame ; 
The heathen Herod of all nursery-bards ! 

We have them still, and " Legion " is their name ! 
But, hush ! I have no wish to get their u cards ;" 
I want Van Amburgh's art, to play with wolves and pards ! 

V. 

Yet, Lyons has her glory. — Turn aside, 

And take three steps within her " Notre Dame ; " 
If some in Lyons now and then have died, 

At least " Our Lady " should not bear the blame : 
She cures by contract, heals deaf, dumb, and lame ; 
Gives life to corpses ; if there 's faith in walls 
Covered with miracles of flood and flame, 
Ex voto, legs eyes, arms, and cannon-balls : 
No charity bazaar can boast of fuller stalls ! 



94 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto 

VI. 

If Germany may boast her Hohenlohes; 

Happy the sinner, here who cracks his crown; 
Happy the man, who breaks his shins or nose ; 

He only has to pay his tariff down : 

(So much per gentleman, so much per clown !) 
The old are young again ; the stiffest wrinkles 

Are smooth as wax ; grey locks are turned to brown ; 
The purblind eye with new-born lustre twinkles ; 
The moment in the box the pious present tinkles ! 

VII. 
ST. JANTJARIUS, 
Let Humboldt write his wonder-hunting rambles, 

I We seen Rome's doings, comical, and serious ; 
Nay, been half stifled in the holy scrambles, 

To see thy " melting day," St. Januarius ! 

(Call as your sceptics may the trick nefarious) 
Unluckily, just then, the French were there, 

(Whose presence to all saints is deleterious,) 
Lining with horse and foot the stately square, 
Where lay the bottled saint upon his gilded chair ! 



CANTO iv. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 95 

VIII. 

The French dragoons had lately plucked the Pope, 

Nay, sent the Conclave to the right-about; 
Cooling some rabble-Catos by the rope ; 

Strong facts, which made the Saint of Naples pout. 
The General marched two brass six-pounders out. 
The Saint still sulked against his liquefaction ; 

The priests began to growl, the mob to shout ; 
Both palpably inclined to peace-infraction ; 
The General gave the word, to " prime and load " for action. 

IX. 
The priest rubbed on, — the blood remained unmelted,— 

The Lazzaroni rallied round their Saint ; 
Some brandished knives, some gathered stones, some pelted ; 

Just then, the holy rubber seemed to faint. 

The Frenchman's anger now knew no restraint. 
He spurred his charger through the living tide, 

(The rabble's pious horror who can paint?) 
Sabre in hand, he stood the priest beside ; 
The trembler rubbed once more — the Saint was liquified ! 



96 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO 

X. 

If I must worship things, give me the mountains, 

Vesuvius with its boilers — old Mont Blanc, 
Or Etna, with its forests and its fountains ; 

Give me but something worth a sight or song. 

I loathe the dulness of Rome's saintly throng : 
Old beggars, limping idiots, hairy brutes, 

Fat dames, with backs much fitter for the thong, 
Sainted in swarms, (when past their old pursuits,) 
The legendary tribe of Limbo's raw recruits* 

XI. 
If / must bow, it shall not be to bones ! 

But, let me, like the Indian, worship rivers : 
The Ganges, bathing half a hundred thrones ; 

The Indus — all the golden harvest-givers, 

(Worth all your doctors, too, for yellow livers,) 
Bounding in beauty from the cloud-crowned ridge, 

Where the furred Turcoman in summer shivers; 
Spanning the world of Asia like a bridge, 
On which stands lordly man, a something like a midge ! 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 97 

XII. 

I once sailed up the mighty Amazon ; 

All day the waters round us seemed to boil. 
Drenched from the eve in dew, till rose the sun ; 

For months, our morning, noon, and night were toil. 

But, all was lovely Nature's virgin soil — 
The ground, a tissue of ten thousand flowers, 

The forests, curtained with their splendid coil, 
The valleys, depth on depth of glorious bowers : 
I still delight to dream of those soul-stirring hours. 

XIII. 
True, we kept eager watch upon the creek, 

Where the thick plantains clustered o'er the river ; 
Old haunt of serpents, or the panther sleek, 

Or the swart Indian, with his poisoned quiver, 

Waiting, his deadly missive to deliver. 
And, once, we saw a war-axe bore a leak 

Below our water-mark, (I shot the diver !) 
Still, on we worked, and laughed, from week to week ; 
Winding by forest green, and mountain's sun-dyed peak, 



98 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO IV. 

XIV. 

But, all was life : the stately jaguar 

Stalked to the beach, to bathe his shining side ; 
The swift flamingo, like a shooting star, 

Shed crimson lustre through the forest wide ; 

Fearless the antelope the strangers eyed ; 
Upsprang in snowy clouds the white toucan ; 

Tribes, thick as motes, in gold and scarlet dyed, 
Soared to the sun ; the pheasant spread his fan : 
All, as in earth's first days, without the dread of man. 

XV. 
THE JOURNEY. 

But what are these bright, moveless clouds ?— the Alps ! 

Lyons, farewell ! — post-horses for the hills, 
Where Hannibal's black squadrons left their scalps, 

And Roman slaughter reddened all the rills, 

And haughty Austria paid the Switzers' bills. 
(All " honoured " on the bodies of her knights,) 

With many a massacre of fools, that fills 
The sanguine page of royal wrongs and rights : 
Man is a fighting bruit — the only brute that fights ! 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 99 

XVI. 

A day's hot driving brought me to "mine inn." 

Earth has, perhaps, few hours of perfect bliss ; 
But still, howe'er the twenty-four begin, 

The dinner-hour is one — which none should miss, 

(Especially, with wife and babes to kiss ;) 
Or (if his bark in loneliness makes sail) 

'Tis when, upon a burning day like this, 
Tired out with dragging at his horse's tail, 
He finds an honest steak, and cup of English Ale ! 

XVII. 
THE GLOEY OF ALE. 
Ale, " pleasant, warming, kind, heroic liquor ! " 

(I give its honours, in thy words, Orosius;) 
Dear to all ranks, — prince, ploughman, clerk, and vicar ! — 

His Whiskey makes the Irishman ferocious ; 

His Aqua-vitae makes the Gaul atrocious : 
But thou, — calm, rich, and heart-enwrapping Ale ! 

Parent of fireside jests, and puns precocious ; 
Art the true Briton's beverage, — mild or stale, 
Whether in England, brown ; or India, pure and pale. 

F 2 



100 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto iv. 

XVIII. 

Thy pedigree, too, merits a description : — 
Thy birth was due to Egypt, — land of Sages ! 

The gallant Greek next followed the prescription ; 
Then, coming Westerly by easy stages, 
Rome's iron legions drank thee for their wages, 

Binding (of course) all nations in their chain. 

Then, Ale taught man to break his Roman cages. 

Ev'n England bowed to Norman and to Dane, 

Till Ale first wet her lips, and then — she "Ruled the Main." 

XIX. 

The eve was glorious ! and a clustering vine 

Shading the casement, cooled the sultry air. 
I, calm and comfortably, sipped my wine, 

Reposing in an old, superb bergere : 

My landlord was a demi-solde, whose hair 
Gave proof sufficient, that his wars were over. 

I shared my bottle with the militaire, 
And, while I loitered o'er his cook's chef d'ceuvre^ 
He told his Captain's tale — a genius, rake, and lover. 



CANTO iv. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 10! 

XX. 
COUNT ISIDORE. 
Murat had once a page ; a splendid fellow, 

As ever flirted, fought, or wore moustache : 
All went on swimmingly, (durante hello) — 
But bold Murat soon gave his final flash ; 
Count Isidore grew vastly out of cash ; 
Tried billiards, hazard ; still his ducats flew ; 

At last he foundered, with a final crash ! 
Was cut by his "best friends; " the world looked blue : 
The gallant Count resolved to bid the world adieu. 

XXL 
England had run her scissors through the map ; 
Fortune at all the braves had " made a set," — 
(As very a jade as ever wore a cap ;) 
A ditch paid gallant Poniatowski's debt ; 
The " Duke" had finished * Victory's spoiled pet ; " 
A coroner's inquest sat upon Berthier ; 

Duroc's and Caulaincourt's last drum had beat ; 
Nap was himself no more the world's cashier : 
'Twas plain the game was up, with Marshal, Prince, and Peer 6 



102 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO iv. 

XXII. 

The night was black as ink (I 'm no describer). 

Having, to take his plunge, made up his mind, 
The Count strolled quietly along the Tiber ; 

'Twas Winter, (Rome can boast hail, rain, and wind) 

Still, on he walked, half freezing, and half blind, 
A showy Cafe caught his passing eye, — 

The thought then struck him, that he had not dined, — 
— " 'Twas all the same ; his business was, to die ; - 
He had no appetite " — so, in he went — to try. 

XXIII. 
All glittered round him ; he perused the Carte, 

Tasted his becafico and Tokay ; 
Half got the last Court Calendar by heart ; 

Glanced at the play-bill — 'twas his favourite play ! 

Peste-ed the hour that stripped him of half-pay ; 
Pored o'er the winnings of Lord Scamper's stud ; 

Got up ; sat down ; — was loth to go, or stay ; 
Peeped out ; the bitter blast congealed his blood : 
Never was uglier night, to sleep in Tiber's mud. 



canto iv. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 103 

XXIV 

Now, if the night had been a night in June, 

With stars, and so forth, on the waves reposing, — 
Or, if he could have seen a scrap of moon, — 

Or, if a lute had set the breezes dozing ; 

He had not thought so long about " foreclosing." 
(Remember, he 's Italian) but, to plunge 

In that black surge, was past all human glozing, — 
Sucking up that ice-water, like a sponge ! 
He had much rather met some German sabre's lunge. 

XXV. 

So, back he stepped, to give a parting gaze, 

Where a huge mirror shone above the stove ; 
(John Bull well knows the comfort of a blaze) 

He thought of his guitar, cigar, — and love. 

The guests already had begun to move : 
The or-molu argands began to quiver ; 

Count Isidore drew on, and off, his glove ; 
Looked in the glass again ; began to shiver : 
Cut I were such ringlets made, for lodgings in a river? 



104 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto IV. 

XXVI. 

Few on their own sweet smiles can gaze enough. 

He heard a voice within a neighbouring box ; 
He turned : there, peeping through his meerschaum's puff, 

He saw the visage of his " man of stocks," 

(A compound of the vulture and the fox.) 
Count Isidore knew something of the Jews, — 

His title-deeds were under sundry locks. 
(A case not new among the Royal Blues :) 
The Rabbi hobbled up, and asked " the last court news." 

XXVII. 
The Guardsman had no leisure for " narrations." 

— " Isaac," said he, " I 'm now without a paul? 
Says Isaac — " Tish bad times for shpeculations ; 

" This peace will ruin us, Counts and Jews, and all 

" My railway shares have made a desperate fall ; 
« My ' grand exploshion 's ' past all advertizing, 

" (The fools will stick to gunpowder and ball ;) 
" My ' full moon ' stock is anything but rising ; 
" My negro-bleaching soap, I grieve to say, capsizing !" 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 105 

XXVIII. 
— " Cash me a bill !" — " My dear, don't talk of cashing ; 

" There never was worsh times for fortune-making! 
" Bubbles von't do : my 6 anti-water-washing,' 

" Though puffed all round the world, is more than 
shaking ; 

" My < planks from shavings ; ' ' paper-stoves for baking; 5 
« My Q glasses to keep donkeys 7 eyes from winking ; ' 

" My ' patent flying steamer for moon-raking,' 
" The beautifullest thing on earth, — all sinking ! 
" Such dreadful losses, Count, must set a man a thinking."' 

XXIX. 

■ — " Cash me a bill, old trickster ! or I swear," 

— ■" Shwear not ! — unless 'twill raise us the doubloon ! 

w I have a thought — 'tis Sinigaglia's Fair ; 
" Suppose we try a travelling baboon : 
" You for the brute, and I for the buffoon ! 

" You will but have to dance, while / harangue. 
" You vont — the gas quite out of the balloon ! " — 

— " Isaac, I've come to die — 'tis but a pang ; 

"One plunge will finish both! "—The Rabbi from him sprang. 

f y 



106 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO IV, 

XXX. 

Then, taking courage, (fenced behind a chair,) 

And fixing on him his two twinkling eyes ; 
" Count," said the Jew, " I think, that head of hair, 

" And whiskers, would require but small disguise. 

" To play a bear, and raise us the supplies ! 
" If that von't do, suppose you try the stage ?" 

- — " Wretch ! " with his sword half drawn, the Guardsman 
cries ; 

" This arm shall punish ! But I spare your age ! 

" A player ! — I'd rather be a parrot in a cage ! " 

XXXI. 

" Well," said the Jew, " what think you of a friar ! 

" You're sure of feeding, while the world has fools; 
" All round the land youll have meat, clothes, and fire : 

" The pious are your dupes, the knaves your tools ! 

" Eat, drink, and fatten, are the friar's rules. 
" He pays no taxes, and he knows no care ; 

" He always lays his pack on others' mules ; 
" He always makes his meal of others' fare ; 
" He only has to cant, and make the rabble stare ! 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 107 

XXXII. 

" Von't do ? — I have it now ! a husband-raffle ! — 

" Ten francs a ticket, and yourself the prize !" 
— " Isaac ! No chance on earth my fate can baffle ! " 

— " I'll have your lordship lithographed full size ! 

" Man never knows his luck, until he tries. 
" I ask but nine-tenths profits, for my fee ; 

" Taking upon my conscience all the lies ! " 
— " 'Tis madness !" — " You shall see what you shall see ! 
" The Cafe 's shutting up : come home and sup with me.' 

XXXIII. 
They went their way — through many a gloomy lane. 

Where men might tremble for their throats and pockets 
(Rome's rogues have no great reason to complain 

Of the Madonna's little holy sockets). 

But Isaac having lately struck his dockets, 
And cash not troubling much Count Isidore, 

They slipped along, as smoothly as sky-rockets ; 
Traversed the Ghetto, climbed a sixieme floor, 
And entered, mute as mice, the Hebrew's ancient Store, 



108 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO IV. 

XXXIV. 

The room was piled with all strange kinds of lumber ; 

The Count was puzzled, " where they could be found ! ** 
Huge folios, by the world long sent to slumber ; 

Arms on the walls, and pictures on the ground ; 

Cracked china ; lutes, long guiltless of a sound ; 
Furred mantles, missals, tarnished antique plate ; 

Helmets, on old crusaders' brows embrowned ; 
Torn tapestry, and rust-stain'd swords of state : 
A sepulchre of things — dim reliques of the great. 

XXXV. 

Yet, Time ! if thou could'st give them but a tongue ; 

How many a curious tale they might have told !— 
Pomps of the proud, and pleasures of the young ; 

Loves of the lovely, perils of the bold ! 

Note, all alike in earth's deep bosom cold ! 
The poet's passion-song, the beauty's bloom, 

Year upon year, down Time's dim current rolled ; 
Their sole memorials now, a lute or plume, 
And those, too, buried in this old and lonely room. 



canto iv. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 

XXXVI. 

What visions of the lovely and the vain 

Might echo from the portrait's lip of rose ! 
What laughter, from the old gold-headed cane. 

So oft beneath its Charlatan's hooked nose ! 

What gay court-revels, from the spangled hose, 
Glittering in Saraband and Roun delay e ! 

What days of kingly pomp, and paynim blows, 
On Spanish plains, or Israel's mountains gray ; 
Might that chain-armour tell !— now vanished ail away ! 

XXXVII. 

The single taper scarcely showed the room : 
The Count enjoyed his supper not the less, 

A fire soon threw its blaze across the gloom, 
Old Isaac, too, was clever at a mess : 
Then, diving in an ancient rich-carved press, 

He brought a flask of exquisite Bourgogne. 
| Earth's happiest secret of forge tfulness ! ) 

The Count's cold scruples overboard were thrown : 

The Hebrew winding up the treaty with a loan ! 



110 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto IV. 

XXXVIII. 

The count was lithographed ; — his full-length figure 

On every wall in Italy was pasted : 
Tiger-moustached, eyes fierce as a hair-trigger ! 

The sex, to buy the shares, by hundreds hasted ; 

Not half a paul on dress thenceforth was wasted ! 
" A husband for ten francs ! — the cheapest thing !" 

To make the francs, some worked, some begged, some 
fasted ! 
The coin poured in, like water from the spring : 
Old Isaac much enjoyed this " running at the ring" 

XXXIX. 

Shares rose to par — were at a premium — rose 

To double, triple — fifty francs a piece ! 
The Hebrew cried — " Tish better than old closhes ! " 

Both thought, that they had found the Golden fleece ! 

Fresh "calls" came in from Russia, Spain, and Greece ; 
Emptying the ancient hoards of woman-kind* 

The pair of life had taken a new lease ! 
Isaac's blue gaberdine with coin was lined ; 
The Count resolved to take Dame Fortune in the mind. 



canto IV. THE 3IODERN ORLANDO. Ill 

XL. 

Rome is still talking of his equipage, 

The prettiest gilded thing on Tiber's shore, 
His liveries, dinners, diamonds, were the rage ; 

Fashion had but one star — Count Isidore ; 

His prancing Spanish jennets (he drove four) 
Left all the Cardinals' coursers in the shade. 

His suppers beat the Pope's — (I say no more !) 
His ball-night stripped the Archduke's masquerade : 
{Fete the world showily, — 'twill never ask your trade.) 

XLI. 
The Count was handsome. — All the " Arts " found out, 

That he was "just of the Antinoiis' size." 
(His ducats put the question out of doubt. ) 

The Sex all thought him " Cupid in disguise,'* — 

(His jewels proved the fact to all their eyes.) 
Rome's thousand poets swelled his trump of fame 

" Wisest of wits, and wittiest of the wise " 
Dante to him was dull, and Tasso tame. 
The Monks proposed their price, to canonize his name. 



112 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO IV. 



XLII. 

But, " Moths are singed, that fly too near the light; " — 

" The reckoning comes, and laughers laugh no more," 
With other ancient saws— {as useless quite,) 

The day arrived, to " draw " for Isidore ! 

Never had Rome seen such a sight before ; 
In rushed the sex, all certain of the prize ! 

From wild Fifteen, to Fifty, and Five-score ! 
The Vatican was startled with their cries, — 
So, hired an Austrian guard, to save its lobster-pies. 

XLIII. 

In poured the Sex, in troops, white, black, mulatto. 

The grinning negress, to the monkey kin ; 
The Spaniard, yellow as her own tomato ; 

The fish-faced Hollander ; the dog-faced Fin ; 

(Fine studies for the connoiseurs in skin ; ) 
The snub-nosed Swiss ; brown Tartar ; frost-nipt Pole !- 

There sat the Count, in horror at the din ! 
The Jew, expecting to be swallowed whole, 
Slipped off, beneath the crowd, as silent as a mole. 



CANTO IV. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 113 

XLIV. 

At once the "general victim" gave a start: 

A Calabrese, (not born to die a Nun,) 
Who shot, long since, an eyebeam through his heart, 

(A habit with those daughters of the sun,) 

Now entered, — drew her ticket, — He teas icon ! — 
The losers roared like fifty thunder-peals ; 

The pair, to save their lives, were forced to run. 
(Earth has few lighter than Italian heels.) 
The crowd tore down the hall, doors, windows, walls, and 
loheels ! 

XLV. 
Last year, I saw the Captain at his villa, 

The loveliest spot along the lovely shore, 
Where sweeps the surge around the feet of Scylla. 

The world was sunshine with Count Isidore ; 

Loving and loved, he tempted Fate no more ; 
Had dropt his anchor, and had furled his sail : 

Fortune had nobly paid off her old score, — 
And now, the monarch of his vineyard vale, 
He often laughs, and tells his " Husband Raffle " Tale ! 



THE 3I0DERN ORLANDO. 115 



NOTES TO CANTO IV 



Page 91, line 1. 

Lyons. 

The capital of the south, and chief manufacturing city of France, 

is finely situated on the confluence of the Saone and Rhone, but shut 

in by hills. The heights were chiefly fortified after the commotion 

in the city, some years ago. 

Page 92, line o. 
The Fouvriere. 
A height from which the best view of Lyons is obtained. 

Page 92, line 7. 
Furious Croix-Rousse. 
The district of the silk weavers, and chief seat of the insurrection. 
Guiliotiere, with its adjoining suburb, the scene of the revolutionary 
massacres. 

Page 93, line 1. 
Caligula. 
The Emperors Claudius and Caligula were born in Lyons. On 
the site of the church of Ainay, is believed to have stood the Athe- 
naeum, an imperial school of eloquence and poetry, founded by 
Caligula; and in which the defeated candidates were punished, 
sometimes in ignominious ways. 

Page 93, line 11. 
Within her Notre Dame. 
The cathedral of Lyons. Full of relics and ex votos. 



116 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 

Page 94, line 10. 
St. Januarius. 
An annual exhibition of the melting of the saint's blood preserved 
in a bottle. As nothing can be too absurd for popular belief, this 
trick is persevered in, as affording a source of national pride, and 
giving a Neapolitan holiday. The saint is sometimes tardy in being 
melted, especially when " heretics are by," but he is always prevailed 
on at last. 

Page 97, line t. 
The mighty Amazon. 
The chief river of the American continent. 

Page 98, line 1. 
The stately jaguar. 
The American tiger. 

Page 99, line 11. 
Orosius. 
A writer in the fifth century. 

Page 101, line 14. 

Victory s spoiled pet. 

L'Enfait gate de la Victoire. The name given by Napoleon to 

Massena. 

Page 104, line 11. 

Not worth a paid. 
A sixpence. 

Page 107, line 13. 

Little holy sockets. 

The principal light in the streets of Rome, was from the lamps 

burning before the images of the Virgin. 

Page 107, line 17. 
The Ghetto. 
The quarter in which the Jews, by an old superstitious severity, 
are shut up, in Rome. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 117 



CANTO V. 

THE HURRICANE THE FRIGATE MIRABEAU ATHENS- 
MARATHON — THE CHARTREUSE THE PENITENTS — 

IGNAVIE ENCOMIUM CHARLES XII. 

I. 

Give me great Nature's summoners to thought— 

The mountain's thunder-splintered pinnacle ; 
The living freshness of the ivied grot, 

Where the young river gushes from its cell ; 

The low rich echoes that from forests swell, 
Or ruined piles, by wild-wood flowers o'ergrown, 

Where ancient sages taught, or heroes fell : 
And glorious shapes seem haunting every stone ; 
And the world-wearied heart communes with Heaven alone. 



118 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v. 

II. 

Nature, I love thee, in thy storm and calm, 

In wilderness, or wave, I love thee still, 
For thou alone hast power the pangs to balm, 

That, but for thy sweet antidote, must kill. 

Not, that I dare impeach the lofty will, 
Which, like the lightning, struck me to the earth ; 

If mine are wounds too deep for human skill, 
If bitter tears now mingle with my mirth; 
I own the solemn bond — the burthen of man's birth ! 

III. 
" Three sultry days, and then a thunder storm ! * 

France condescends to borrow England's weather ; 
So be it ; / shall ask no sky-reform : 

Better be drenched, than roast for months together ; 

Having your visage turned to varnished leather ; 
Earth fit for nothing, but a snake or ferret ; 

Hill, dale and plain, one crackling sheet of heather ; 
The world half burnt, " with all that it inherit," 
I think, upon the whole, our thunder-storms have merit. 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 119 

IV. 

Once, for my sins, I " summered it " abroad : 

Twas in that " land of rapture/' Italy ! 
Within a week, my very soul was flawed ; 

Crackt like a jar ! life round me ceased to be. 

Off dropped the leaves from flower, and shrub, and tree ; 
Stript, like a ball-room belle, stood every vine ; 

(Romance, of course, will see what it will see.) 
All that / saw, from Alp to Appennine, 
Was grimness, dust, and glare, — a landscape of the Line ! 

V. 

The storm has come ! — I love that world of clouds, 

With all its deepening, darkening, roiling, rushing ! 
Now, spreading, pale and wild, like giant shrouds : 

Now, pile on pile, in fiery sunlight flushing ; 

Now, with the rain from all its fountains gushing ; 
Then, stooping on the hills, like funeral palls, 

The thunderbolts the forest-monarehs crushing ; 
The streamlets bursting down in waterfalls ; 
Till comes the golden ray, to paint its airy halls.. 



120 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v. 

VI. 

The thunder dies away ; the storm is past ; — 

The sun looks out from heaven, a lovelier sun ; 
The rain-drops from the trees fall bright and fast ; 

The rainbow shoots across the vapours dun ; 

The leverets o'er the freshened herbage run ; 
The flowers all seem their sister flowers caressing ; 

A general evening anthem has begun ; 
The birds, in song their little souls confessing ; 
Field, forest, breathing up their incense for the blessing ! 

VII. 
I have been long a connoisseur in storms— 

Not these slight sprinklers of the summer plain ; 
But, would you worship Nature's grandest forms, 

Leave forest, field, and mountain's marble chain; 

And seek the goddess in her own domain, 
The Ocean in its strength ; — the blinding blaze ; 

The blasts, like iron columns ; tropic rain 
Pouring in cataracts ; the sheeted sprays ; 
The tempest hiding Heaven, for desperate nights and days. 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 1 2 I 

VIII. 
Take my experience in those showy things ; 

None (but your yachtmen) scorn a hurricane. 
First, all is stillness ; to the mast-head clings 

The lumbering sail ; no breath disturbs the vane ; 

The low horizon shows a blood-like stain ; 
The sky looks coppery ; the air seems lead : 

Far thunders mutter ; fall slow drops of rain ; 
The sun on huge brown billows lays his head. 
Then, shoots one broad red glare, and day at once is fled. 

IX. 

Night drops death-dark ; and, if on board a ship, 

At anchor in some Windward island's lee, 
You 're sure to dream of taking your last trip, 

Down to the bottom of the " deep deep " sea ; 

A million sharks upon you making free ! 
You feel their triple grinders taking bites ! 

You scream, and bounce from bed ; the bell strikes three ; 
(The blackest hour of black West Indian nights ;) 
You find the crew all up, and hammering the dead-lights ! 



122 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v. 

X. 
Landward, the view is thick as Indian ink ; 

Save where you see the flashing of a gun, 
Or the wild tossing of some negro's link, 

Waiting to pick your pocket, when all 's done ! 

Ships, cutting cables, plump upon you run, 
Threatening to send you to the " sailor's home." 

Shouts, shrieks, and thunder-peals, your ear-drums stun ; 
Seaward, you see but one wide world of foam, 
Surge rolling upon surge, huge as St. Peter's dome ! 

XI. 

If peeps the moon, the sight but grows more horrid ; 

She looks a ghost, above a boundless grave ; 
With " hat-band " clouds about her dismal forehead ; 

The winds all howling out your funeral stave ! 

Then comes a crash — a groan ! — that mountain-wave 
Has done the deed ! — the cable 's snapt asunder ! — 

Your anchor 's gone ! — You need but choose, what cave, 
Or crag, your Worship wishes to lie under ; 
With grampusses for mutes; chief mourners, surge and 
thunder ! 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 123 

XII. 

Then, chops the wind — at first, a stout north-wester. 

Right in your teeth ; you reef, so forth, and brail ; 
Thinking all snug.— Then comes a stout north-easter, 

Right on your stern ; away go shroud and sail ! 

No sooner has it caught you by the tail, 
Than comes another, stiff upon your beam ; 

Your vessel pitches, like a stranded whale ; 
You hear the water rush through leak and seam : 
And whirl away bare-poled, along the Great Gulf Stream ! 

XIII. 
But, when the gale is done, Jack's work is done ; 

He takes his sport, with all the world before him ; 
Cares for the world no more than his great gun ! 

No taxes, politics, or fashions, bore him ; 

Happy to think that all the sex adore him ! 
He rows life's long-boat with a hearty pull ; 

(Unless some land-shark manages to shore him ;) 
Steady of heart and hand, and quick of scull : 
Yet there are tales of thy simplicity, John Bull ! 

G 2 



]24 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v. 

XIV. 

THE PEIGATE. 
Her Majesty's crack frigate, the Osiris, 

Was dropping down the Eastern- Indian Isles ; 
The sea around her coloured like an iris ; 

The clouds a mass of gold and silver piles ; 

The shore all spice and flowers — all Nature smiles ! 
The breeze, six knots an hour ; the leadsman's tune, 

Sweet ringing, as he measured off the miles. 

When, from the cabin, like a fire-balloon, 

The boatswain burst, and roared — " Prepare for the 

Typhoon ! " 

XV. 

'Tis known, this Indian tempest gives no warning; 

The sea is smooth as glass, the sky is clear ; 
Yet it would swamp the Channel-fleet by morning. 

The only sign is the barometer; 

When it sinks suddenly, the danger 's near. 
The captain, lounging o'er his port and cheese, 

Had seen it shake : although his eager ear 
Could catch no swell of either surge or breeze ; 
He looked again ; plump down it went five — ten degrees ! 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 125 

XVI. 
" All hands aloft !" Down rattled each sky-scraper I 

Topsail, topgallant, mizen, all they go ! 
Yet round the whole horizon, not a vapour; 

Still the old Quartermaster, from below, 

Cried — " Glass still falling ; steadily, though slow." 
The frigate now stood naked to her hull, 

Heaving with every billow to and fro ; 
Loose on the water, as a wounded gull ! 
Captain, Lieutenants, Mids, and Tars, all looking dull ! 

XVII. 
Soon, with the tide, up came a fleet of junks, 

Toiling along, like horses in a mill ; 
Jack had his jest against those floating trunks : 

M John Chinaman will shortly pay his bill ! " 

They worked along ; the frigate stood stock still ! 
Then came a Yankee steamer, all on smoke. 

Jack scoffed — " Old Jonathan may make his Will ; 
u He '11 quickly find typhooning is no joke ; 
" He'll reach his anchorage to-night, without his coke !" 



126 THE 310DERN ORLANDO. canto v. 

XVIII. 

Next came a Frenchman, steering for Canton ; 

Smooth as the slipper on a lady's foot, 
A showy six-and-thirty, dancing on. 

" Crapaud " is saucy ; so, for a salute, 

He roared with laughter ! — every tar was mute : 
But, fierce and furious ; longed to change his tune, 

But saw him onwards like a dolphin shoot. 
Their only comfort — " Well, he '11 have it soon ; 
" He '11 sing another song to-night, in the typhoon !" 

XIX. 

The day went down. The evening in this climate 

Is lovely ; but this evening was sublime ! 
The sun sat throned in gold — a great sky-primate. 

Jack sulked at all, the sun, the sea, the clime. 

The mercury was watched from time to time, 
And still reported w falling ; " though the gale 

Came whispering, rich with scents of grape and lime. 
Stars rose by millions, yet not one was pale ! 
Jack paced the deck in wrath ; there lay yard, mast, and sail ! 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLAXDO. 127 

XX. 

Morn came at last ; but, from the island-bays, 
Out swarmed a locust-flight of war-canoes, 

Those robbers of all nations, the Malays, 
As black as Satan in their hearts and hues, 
Reckoning to sack her Majesty's "true blues." 

Thinking the frigate fixed upon a shoal, 

They peppered her with matchlocks and long-twos : 

While Jack, with many a writhe of face and soul, 

Srood to be raked, as still as shore-boats in a mole ! 

XXL 

Tis true, he blazed until his guns were hot: 

But, might as well have blazed them at the moon ! 
The men in black, each chose his favourite spot, 

Where he might fire from January to June. 

Jack whistled, howled, danced, raved for the typhoon ! 
The captain to the doctors was sent wounded : 

The master, and lieutenant followed soon ; 
The water in the hold " six feet " was sounded ! 
Seldom was fighting; bark more consummately pounded ' 



128 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO v. 

xxn. 

The captain, stretched upon the cabin-floor, 

Casting around an agonizing eye ; 
Saw something trickle, like a drop of ore — 

By Mars and Venus, 'twas the mercury ! — 

The glass had cracked, and oozed ! — He sprang sky-high ! 
Jumped upon deck, and shouted — " Make all sail ! " 

Out burst three cheers ! like birds the topmen fly ! 
Grape, round, and canister, poured thick as hail ! 
The pirates fled, and Jack rushed off before the gale ! 

XXIII. 
MIRABEAU. 
Now, rise before me the Proven£al hills ; 

Glory of Novels, " Paradise of France ! 
" Where wine from every highway hedge distils, 

" And life's sole labour is, to sing and dance ! " 

Alas, for all the honours of Romance ! 
The morning cuts your midriff with the Bise •' 

Noon burns your cuticle, and blinds your glance ! 
The evening dews your very heart-veins freeze ! 
Night is despair — the reign of Pharaoh's plague of fl — s ! 



CANTO v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 129 

XXIV. 

And yet, I paused, to see an old chateau ; 

Now but a heap of ivy-mantled stones ; 
The fortress of thy fathers, Mirabeau ! — 

Thou man of contradictions ! — prop of thrones, 

Yet, the hot marrow in Rebellion's bones ; 
The Monarch's hireling ; yet the rabble's king I 

Courtier, yet brazen trump of faction's tones ! 
Thy genius, half swine's hoof, half eagle's wing ! 
Bold, coward, patriot, slave, tool, traitor, — everything ! 

XXV. 
These are the men one hates, and yet admires ; 

The base, yet brilliant, actors on life's stage ; 
7*he Titan-brood, with serpents for their sires ; 

The shame and scorn, but, wonder of their age ; 

Wild mixture of the savage and the sage ; 
Fierce summoners to that consummate fray^ 

Which tainted thrones with maddened nations wage p 

Dark heralds of the last, avenging day, 

When diadems are crushed, and those who crushed them — 

clay ! 

a 3 



130 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v 

XXVL 

Those are the tribe whose mission is, to teach, 

Not learn ; — interpreters of fate to men, 
Instinct, their thoughts ; their tongues, of mighty speech ; 

Too fiery for the slow-performing pen. 

There never rushed the lion from his den, 
Rousing the forest-echoes with his roar ; 

More marked by nature for the fight ; than when 
This tribe their way to sanguine triumph tore, 
Leaving the world in doubt, to dread them, or adore. 

XXVII. 
Do I grow fretful ?— No ; no revolutions, 

No overthrows, for me or for my heir ; 
My rental wants no new-light distributions ; 

/ want no Yankee presidential chair. 

Still, there is something in the sudden glare ; 
This flush and rush of minds, till then unknown ; 

This drinking of oxygenated air ; 
This filling with live blood the heart of stone ; 
(Remember, I picked up lance-heads in Marathon), 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 131 

XXVIII. 

Athens ! thou hadst a hundred thousand faults, 
Perhaps a million, in thy " seventy " years ! 

Yet, take the dynasty in Hapsburg's vaults, 
With their ten centuries of saints and seers, 
Could they produce thy equals, for their ears ? 

Tell us, what made thy men like beacon-names ; 
Thy genius, keen and sparkling as thy spears ? 

What built thy temples, stoas, academes ? 

Thou galaxy of earth's imperishable names ! 

XXIX. 

Some find the secret in thy purple seas : 

Some in thy hills — nay, some in thy fresh air ! 
Thou hast them still; but no Euripides: 

No Eschylus now shocks our "fell of hair,*' 

Smiting the spirit with his grand despair ! 
No Sophocles ascends the Drama's throne : 

No Socrates now takes the sage's chair : 
Where is the trumpet, once by Pindar blown ? 
And Alcibiades — all thy wild oats are sown ! 



132 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto r. 

XXX. 
Earth's rough, yet noblest spell is — Energy ! 

Mind's hammer, hatchet, plough ! the stern-faced dun, 
That makes us pay our debt to man — or die ! 

Never to halt, until the race is run — 

To know no weariness ; no danger shun ; 
Until Time's hand has struck the crowning hour — 

To think that nothing 's done, till all is done — 
Through day and night, through sunshine and through 

shower, 
To fight the gallant fight ! — Resolve itself is power ! 

XXXI. 
'Twas evening when I first saw Marathon. 

As down its rocky pass my way I wound, 
I thought I ne'er saw loneliness so lone ; 

All nature seemed to say, 'twas hallowed ground ! 

One ray of splendour touched the grass-grown mound. 
That marks the falFn Athenians' sepulchre ; 

All else was dim ; but, on the hills around 
Blazed the full glory of the setting sphere : 
All still ! no sound of man disturbed the eye or ear ! 



CANTO V. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 133 

XXXII. 
I lingered long, and " fancy had her fill," 

Peopling the twilight with " the things that were." 
At once, a horn came echoing from the hill ; 

I started ; but no phalanx glittered there — - 

'Twas an old hermit's call to evening prayer. 
Gathering the mountain shepherds to his cell : 

And soon I saw them in the sinking glare. 
Each with his infants, coming up the dell : 
That hermit was their priest; that horn their vesper bell. 

XXXIII. 
I am no whimperer o'er antique graves ; 

But, if each nation had a Marathon, 
Think you the world would vegetate with slaves ? 

Nay, if the patriot found his grave alone ; 

If the last ray of freedom on him shone ; 
Such spots would be fresh founts of memory : 

The rudest name upon the moss-grown stone 
Would be a trophy to the heart and eye ; 
A lesson how to live — a lesson how to die, 



134 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v 

XXXIV. 
THE CHAETREUSE. 

Yet stop — how could I hope to be forgiven 

By Earth's and England's brightest, best, the Blues ! 
Unless my tourist-sins were duly shriven, 

(A Christian Hadgi), at the Grande Chartreuse. 

I spare my countrymen the " heights and hues/' 
" Chasms, deep as death, — -Lakes, lucid as a mirror ! " 

(Not liking much to tread in others' shoes ; ) 
Throw in, ad libitum, " Awe ! Wonder ! Terror ! " 
Add, " barrenness, and bog," — you'll not be much in error, 

XXXV. 
Its monks !— Yet, what have / to do with monks ? 

Cumberers of earth; but made, to sleep and die: 
In Life's green forestry, the withered trunks ; 

(Not seldom " Hogs of Epicurus' sty ; " ) 

I doubt if I should give a single sigh, 
If their whole race were in their church-yards flung.— 

How could I live and breathe (I 'd scorn to try) 
Without the silver sound of woman's tongue ; 
Life 's sal volatile— that Lyre for ever strung ! 



CANTO v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 135 

XXXYI. 

Three fourths of all I saw. were born to nlourfis, 

Or destined — spade in hand — to " mend our ways : '' 
But, 'twas much pieasanter to make their vows 

To walk the world in petticoats of baize ; 

Living on alms : their years all holidays !— 
Huge caterpillars, basking in the sun ; 

Or fixing, in wild reveries, their gaze 
On the rich features of some sainted nun : 
Rome, Rome ! it is not thus, that Life's high deeds are done. 

XXXVII. 
But then — " They look so pious and pathetic ; 

So tonsured, sack-clothed, sallow, and resigned ! " 
Enquire in London, " Wanted an Ascetic: " 

The " Times'" will find you hundreds, to your mind, 

Aye, thousands ; all as piously inclined 
'To eat and drink for nothing, all their lives, 

As any monk that ever dozed or dined ; 
Ready to trick their debtors, 'scape their wives. 
Wear cowls, and cant, and fill with droneship all your hives. 



136 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto v 

XXXVIII. 

Now, Grande Chartreuse, thy tale is quickly told — 

A labyrinth of cell and corridor ; 
The pile, huge, melancholy, lumbering, old ; 

(The world grows wise, it builds these dens no more.) 

Here sudden ague strikes through every pore ; 
Here reigns supreme the weariness of life ; 

(Life Lethe, monks the weeds upon its shore !) 
One wonders how they keep from rope, or knife, 
And wishes each dumb wretch, an honest trade, and wife, 

XXXIX 

What man of mind has ever seen the cloister, 

But asked the question, " Why, such things were made 
Was it to teach our race to ape the oyster, 

Stuck to the stone, for ever, where 'twas laid ? 

Religion, but a hypocrite parade ! 
Man's glowing heart, and woman's love — a crime ! 

Life, a low game, by mutes and mummers played ! 
Existence measured by the church-clock's chime ! — 
But, take a " little fact," some years before my time. 



CANTO v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 137 

XL. 
THE PENITENTS. 

At Padre Caravita's, during Lent, 

The Friars dress in sackcloth, trimmed with ashes ; 
Lights are put out, and every penitent, 

Credits himself to Heaven, some dozen lashes : 

(The walls and pillars getting all the slashes ;) 
The flogger setting up a pious moan, 

At every item of the bill he cashes : 
Still working desperately at the stone, 
But, giving not a touch to his own flesh and bone ! 

XLI. 
One evening, as they sang their " Miserere," 

With half the city listening at the door, 
(I think this famous chorus dull and dreary,) 

Was heard a yell within, 'twas soon a roar, 

Then, a pitched battle on the holy floor ; 
Screams to the Virgin, howls to every saint ! 

All thought the Fiend had come to claim his score. 
The men began to fly, the sex to faint ; 
I leave the rest, to some new Fuseli, to paint. 



138 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO V. 



XLII. 
And still the battle raged, the howls came thicker ; 

Matters seemed looking black for " Church and State." 
Up marched the pursy guards of Rome's " Grand Vicar," 

Heroes, not much inclined to tempt their fate, 

For, not a soul of them would touch the gate. 
At last, out burst the Penitents, all whipped ; 

Roaring at this new payment of " Church Rate." 
The truth transpired — An Englishman, equipped 
In cowl and gown, within the Padre's porch had slipped. 

XLIII. 
He waited, till the holy farce began ; 

All stript ; all dark ; not even a taper's smoke : 
Then, marking a fat Friar for his man, 

And taking a stout horsewhip from his cloak, 

On his broad back he laid a hearty stroke ! 
The victim shrieked, as if he felt a sabre ; 

John Bull amazingly enjoyed the joke ! 
Proceeding, all the mummers to belabour, 
While, each revenged the stripes upon his naked neighbour ! 



CANTO v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 139 

XLIV. 
Yet when I left, Chartreuse, thy stately gate, 

And bade the men of silent shrugs, good bye, 
(First having dropt my tribute in their plate,) 
And, from the hill-top, saw the convent lie, 
So calm below, beneath the broad, bright sky ; 
It almost struck me, that, in Life's rough game, 

The frozen monk may throw the winning die : 
Escaping wealth's hard work, ambition's flame, — 
His life-long sleep unbroke by hope, or fear, or fame. 

XLV. 

IGXAYLE ENCOMIUM. 
What 's Fame ? — a wind that never blows a week, 

Yet sets the world all pecking at your name. 
What 's Fame ? — a bubble, which all long to break ! 
A horse, that all the " knowing ones " vote u lame ! " — 
I 've known some fifty " lions," all grown tame ! 
Five hundred " heroes," quiet as their mothers ! 
(Fashion gone off, to hunt some newer game.) 
Glory, like gipsies, its own offspring smothers. 
I've seen Pitt, Fox, Tom Thumb, Guizot, and Richard 
Brothers ! 



140 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO V. 



XL VI. 
Must earth be toil, and be for ever toil ? 

Must War, and Want, and Cold, and Clay — be Man ? 
Year upon year but changes of turmoil ; 

Hearts sick, and faces with heartsickness wan ! 

I wish some hand, alert at the trepan,- 
Would give my brain a " bump " for gown or cowl ; 

A taste for monkism ; life without a plan ; 
The nearest to the status of an owl ; 
Yet, what is human life ? — the odds are for the fowl ! 

XLVIL 

What if your owl has neither child nor wife ? 

Per contra, he has all his own dear will ! 
What if he leads a somewhat mopish life ? 

He pays no income-tax, no Bond-street bill ; 

No monarch sends him to be killed, or kill ! 
What if his wing with midnight walks is wet ? 

No magistrate can send him to " the mill." 
He has no hard-worked conscience — " to be let!" 
Your owl is never drunk, in dudgeon, or in debt ! 



CANTO V. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 141 



XL VIII. 

'Tis true, he now and then sits rather late ; 

But, 'tis for business, and that business sport ! 
He never hears a sixteen hours' debate 

On herrings, hogsheads, and the price of port. 

He 'scapes Whig wit, and Treasury retort ; 
(Owl as he is, he 's not in parliament !) 

Nor cares a bean who 's " in? or " out" at court ; 
Nor trembles, if the funds fall cent, per cent. ; 
Nor, like your Irish lords, gets bullets for his rent ! 

XLIX. 
Yes, give me but my choice, I 'd be a bird ; 

But, it must be an osprey — a sea-king ! 
Wherever gale awoke, or billow stirred, 

Breasting the tempest ; ever on the wing ! 

Steering, when Winter frowned, to seek the Spring, 
By " vext Bermoothes," or some Indian shore. 

Then, tired of sunshine, on the whirlwind fling 
My broad black pinion, for my sail and oar, 
Till once again I heard my northern surges roar. 



142 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO 

L. 

Then, I should colonize ; choose some bright spot, 

Some nobler Kilda, in some mightier main ; 
Where, though man might be eaten, birds might not; 

Nor idle lordlings filled their bags with slain. 

Then, looking down, with dignified disdain, 
On man, the wretch ! — the sport of winds and waves ! 

Throned on my promontory's granite chain, 
Scoff at the world's unfeathered tribe of slaves, 
Toiling to find, at best, but coroneted graves ! 

LI. 

Or, I should take my tour — that tour, the World ! 

My road the clouds ; my gallopers the wind ! 
What were your boilers, to my plumes unfurled, 

Making five hundred miles before I dined ? 

No beggar passport my bold path to bind, 
(That pettiest privilege of petty kings ; 

Those well-dressed men, whom all conspire to blind:) 
Taking my " bird's-eye " view of men and things, 
Teaching the world the grand supremacy of wings ! 



CANTO V. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 143 

LIL 

PREDEEICSHALL. 

How seldom have Earth's living thunderbolts, 

Her Warrior-kings, burnt out upon their pillow ! 
Their lives all battles, treasons, feuds, revolts ; 

Their end in murder, madness, or the billow ; 

Or, worst of all, Napoleon and his willow ! 
— To climb, and then, be tumbled from, a throne ! 

Their fall empois'ning every peccadillo ; 
With every hand prepared to throw T the stone. — 
" Restez tranquille" I say, to all — " Let well alone. 5 ' 

LIII. 
I sometimes visit scenes, where famous men 

Have dropped that restless particle, the soul. 
This led me, Fredericshall, to thy wild glen, 

The field of battle nearest to the Pole, 

Where Charles the hero, found the warrior's goal. 
You make the land, by Norway's storm-beat beach. 

Up-helm ; and follow, where the Ocean's roll 
Bursts roaring through a mountain's marble breach ; 
All, thundering surge without, — within, a dark, deep Reach, 



144 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO V. 



LIV. 
You wind along, and all is loneliness ; 

One almost strikes the rock on either hand ; 
Huge walls of rock above you seem to press. 

Again light gleams ; — the dim ravines expand, 

You see a wild, sweet scene of Fairy-land : 
Forests of branching oak, and towering pine, 

Circle bright waters, edged with silver sand, 
And, dashing down the mountain's coloured chine, 
Like cataracts from the clouds, a hundred torrents shine. 



LV. 

Now, climb the hill-top ! In the vale below, 

Lies, like a group of molehills, Fredericshall, 
The shattered guardian of its realm of snow ; 

No longer worth the waste of shell and ball. 

A simple pillar marks his nameless fall, 
Whose name once made the ears of Europe ring. 

Oh, Fame, thou jilt of jilts ! and is this all ? 
His all, who clipped the Russian Eagle's wing ; 
The man of iron soul— Ay, "every inch a King?" 



canto v. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 145 

LVI. 
His end was sudden: — vet it might be worse: — 

Sebastian perished in a den, or dyke ; 
Luther's old Caesar, with a nun for nurse: 

The Lutzen King, by pistol or by pike ; 

Others by poison, spleen, or what you like. 
But thine, bold Charles, was death without a groan. 

Thy hand upon thy sword, in act to strike ; 
Thy forehead to the foe. — Thy spirit flown : 
Escaping, at one gasp, gout, heartache, and — a throne ! 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 147 



NOTES TO CANTO V. 



Page 124, line 1. 
The Osiris. 
I am not certain that this venerable name is to be found in the 
Navy List ; but, as a " Nautical Historian/' I pledge myself for the 
fact. 

Page 128, line 15. 

Bise. 

The Alpine wind. 

Page 129, line 3. 
Mirabeau. 
On a height near Monasque, are the ruins of the chateau in which 
the celebrated Mirabeau spent his early years. The first orator of 
France in his day, he was the most popular man with the people, and 
for a while the most confidential man with the king. But his life had 
hastened the revolution, and his death was the fatal blow of the 
monarchy. 

Page 131, line 1. 
Athens, 
The period of Athenian supremacy was but seventy years ! 

Page 134, line 4. 
The Grand Chartreuse. 
A convent founded by St. Bruno, among the mountains of Dau- 
phine. The monks, in the more rigid days of their order, were 
forbidden the use of speech, except on Sundays and fete days. They 
once formed a numerous community, and possessed a large extent 
of the surrounding country. It was a lazy life for thousands, a life 
of suffering for a few, and an useless life for all. Bruno, who was 
a German, did little more than give the monks his example and his 
name. Guignes, their prior in the twelfth century, gave them the 

h2 



148 



NOTES TO CANTO V. 



rules of the order. The approach of women to the convent was for- 
bidden in the most prohibitory and ridiculous terms: the rule on 
the subject declaring, that women have been irresistible in all ages. 
ei Remember/' says this document, " David, Solomon, Samson and 
Lot, and Adam himself. Remember, too, that man cannot hide a 
fire in his bosom without burning his clothes, nor walk on burning 
embers without scorching the soles of his feet." The monk must 
have had a like glowing conception of the tyranny and the tempta- 
tions of the sex. 

Page 134, line 10. 
Its monks. 
The generality of monks and nuns in Romish countries are merely 
peasants, loose and lazy ; who would rather do anything than work 
for their bread. 

Page 138, line 8. 
An Englishman equipped. 
An exploit of Sir Thomas Dashwood at the Oratorio di Padre 
Caravita, the general whipping chapel, in Rome. 

Page 139, line 18. 

Tom Thumb. 
The general. 

Page 139, line 18. 
Richard Brothers. 
A fanatic, who published political visions, some years ago. He 
adopted the style of Bunyan, but without the talent of that most 
marvellous of cobblers. 

Page 145, line 2. 
Sebastian perished. 
The King of Portugal, defeated in a battle against the Moors ; his 
return is said to be still expected by the peasantry. Charles the Fifth 
died in partial idiotcy, attended by monks and nuns. The Lutzen 
King, Gustavus of Sweden, was shot in the victory of Lutzen, 
probably assassinated by one of his officers. Charles the Twelfth 
of Sweden was shot at the siege of Fredericshall, in Norway, and 
also supposed to have been assassinated. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 149 



CANTO VI. 

THE CLARET VINEYARDS THE GIRONDE— THE COLONEL OF 

HULANS NISMES THE CAMISARDS — PUBLIC CHARACTERS 

ABD-EL-KADER THE MOORISH BANQUET. 

I. 

One peep upon thy "flowery banks/' Garonne, 

Before I turn my ponies' heads from France. 
" Thy flowery banks/' — mafoi — half marsh, half stone ! 

A few scrubbed trees, as leafless as a lance ; 

Deep gullies, where green, stagnant waters glance ; 
Brown sheets of sand, mud mounds, and heaps of gravel : 

Hovels, where, all night long, mosquitoes dance ; 
Plains, where but thistles thrive, and donkej^s travel ; — 
I now proceed, Garonne, thy glories to unravel. 



150 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VI. 



II. 

What shall I choose, a boire ? The world's first vintage 
Sparkles before me, with its hundred names ; 

Nature's prime glass, for taste, bouquet, and tintage ! 
Pray, Nature, is it not a thousand shames, 
That England, from the Ganges to the Thames, 

Has never made a glass of wine, re vera. 

What tinsel sets this fighting world in flames ? 

I '11 seize Bordeaux, or colonize Madeira — 

War then would stamp some sense, on Britain's "glorious era." 



III. 
Medoc ! thou charmer ! — Not in outward show, 

(Unless a sand-bank landscape can be pretty,) 
But, all thy names are spells — Chateau-Margaux ! 

(Enough, to wake a " Privilege Committee," 

Nay, make the College of Physicians witty,) 
Latour, Lafitte, with old Sir Samuel's brands; 

(Man's sole excuse for dining in " the City,") 
Thou nectar-fount, amid the Desert sands ; 
Thou purple Bacchus-bath, Oasis of the Landes ! 



canto vr. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 151 

IV. 
This was the charm, that made the Girondist — 

Gascon of Gascons, — folly turned sublime ! 
The will-o'-wisp of France's sanguine mist : 

The noblest madman of a maddened time, 

Embodied essence of his vinous clime ! 
Young Vergniaud's fiery tongue, bold Gensonne, 

The Harlequins of France's Pantomime, 
Brilliant, though rather fierce, (like snakes at play.) 
All guillotined, at last; but then — they had their da v. 

V. 
They had their day — and what can man have more ? 

Theirs were not souls to dwindle into age. 
They had their triumph, in the rabble's roar : 

They showed their buskins on the rabble stage ; 

They had the Frenchman's wish — they were the " rage ! " 
They ran their season — like a cap or gown ; 

They fill, at least, a note, in history's page ; 
Like Punch's trumpet, they awoke "the Town." 
They climbed their slippery pole— well, what is all renown ? 



152 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO VI. 

VI. 

Thus, young Achilles, bright and beautiful, 

Sheathed in new armour, battling with the gods, 

(Nay, to his king not much more dutiful,) 
Disdained to linger down our life of clods, 
Left, to his brother-monarchs their " white rods ! " 

Their " maids of honour," " stars," and elbow-chairs ; 
Took Fortune's gallant game, " against the odds ; " 

To Glory's topmost turret sprang up-stairs, 

And left the World below, to night-caps and grey hairs ! 

VII. 
And yet, amid thy plains of sand, Medoc, 

My ramblings found a little, shadowy vale, 
Where many a blossom draperied the rock, 

And rich exotics still perfumed the gale ; 

And, tissued with the woodbine's blushing trail, 
A Tuscan portal stood, by Time deep-dyed : : — 

I still remember its old owner's tale, 
Told me, one evening, by my peasant guide ; 
Its moral — " Don't provoke your man — until he 's tried." 



canto vi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 153 

VIII. 

THE COLONEL OF HULANS. 
But, to my tale. — Prince Wolfgang, Slachter-Sclavo, 

A famous name in old Croatia's clans, 
Much of the prince, (and something of the bravo ;) 

A native monarch, in his mountain Schanze ; 

Was Austria's first-rate Colonel of Hulans ; 
Whiskered like twenty tigers, six feet four — 

Woe to the man who cut across his plans, 
Sabres were out, the business soon was o'er. 
Young, handsome, — -he was all, that all court dames adore. 

IX. 
One evening, as he strode along the Prater, 

All lace and diamonds, for a palace ball ; 
He saw an old Italian and his daughter, 

Watching the sunset by the Rosenthal. 

The girl was lovely, bright-eyed ; once for all, 
Around her neck our hero threw his arms. 

The startled beauty gave an ultra-squall, 
Flew like a frightened bird, and shawPd her charms, 

Her father grasped him fast, and up came the gendarmes. 

h3 



154 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto VI. 

X. 

" Fool/ 5 cried the Prince, " I have no time to waste, 

Here, take this purse, and wipe the jungf rati s eyes, 
I wish her but less tongue, and better taste." 

The father, with a burning cheek, replies, 

"/pardon insult, when the insulter dies. 9 ' 
His Highness stared — " What ! you want satisfaction ? 

Well, if you will be pinked, come on — time flies ! " 
The daughter rushed between them in distraction, 
She fainted, and the pair were instantly in action. 

XL 
The Prince had fought a score of dashing duels ; 

A hair-splitter with pistol, lance and sabre ; 
But, if you now had given him the crown-jewels, 

He could not touch the coat-skirts of his neighbour. 

In vain he shifted, lunged — he lost his labour. 
He felt a twinge, — his court costume was gored ! 

Wild as a dancing Dervish to his tabor, 
He bounded ; lunge on lunge in vain were poured : 
He felt another twinge — grew faint, and dropped his sword ! 



canto VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO, 155 

XII. 

That night, the Prince was missing at the ball. 

His pair of twinges housed him six long weeks ! 
Court sorrow, ev'n for " Highnesses/' is small : 

The ladies thought him "shot among the Greeks." 

The nobles thought him gone to stop the leaks, 
That Faro makes in many a noble purse ; 

But when they saw him come, with hollow cheeks, 
And all his staff, a doctor and a nurse, 
They laughed and wished him joy. — " 'Twas well it was no 
worse." 

XIII. 
Six months rolled on ; he was himself again, 

Was General, and Imperial Aide-de-camp, 
When started up at Shonbrunn, of all men, 

The old Italian, in the birthday-throng ! 

66 Prince," whispered he, " when one has done me wrong, 
I punish him, until he does me right — 

You are a clever swordsman, come along ! " 
" Friend," said the startled Prince, " 'Tis gala-night." 
" March," was the sole reply : w while they dance on, ice '11 
fight." 



156 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vi. 

XIV. 

His Highness wished him at th' Antipodes, 

But, when one has no help for 't, one must go. 
'Twas a sweet evening, fragrance all the breeze, 

The stars began deliciously to glow, 

Through the tall casements gleamed th 5 Imperial show. 
His Highness would much rather have been dancing; 

But there they stood, with swords out, toe to toe. 
(I spare the ladies all the sabre-glancing) 
The Prince soon got a hit, which spoiled that night's 
romancing. 

XV. 
The old Italian brought him some pond water ; 

(Tastes in such circumstances are not nice.) 
And parting said — " That touch was from my daughter, 

Who bade me give your Highness this advice ; 

6 No more to think all virtue has its price/ " 
So, gently laying him upon his back, 

He made his bow, and vanished in a trice. 
There lay his Highness, filled with musings black, 
Of muffled drum, plumed hearse, led horse, and crape 
shabracque. 



CANTO VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 15' 

XVI. 
It cost him just a twelvemonth, to recover. 

At length, he dropped the luxury of crutches ; 
Flew to St. Petersburg, to get all over ; 

Thought he had 'scaped, at last, his torturer's clutches, 

And flirted with a millionnaire, a Duchess. 
His suit was on the instant of succeeding, 

When, presto ! by him passed the man of touches, 
Who coolly whispered, on his boot-toe treading, 
"Five minutes with you. Prince, before your noble 
wedding." 

XVII. 
He shuddered at the sound ; soup-maigre, flannel, 

Rushed on his soul, he sickened of ptisan ; 
He wished himself in Neva's deepest channel, 

You might have brained the warrior with a fan : 

Down his bold forehead drops of anguish ran. 
A twelvemonth more between his bed and chair ! 

Was quite enough a General to unman. 
The old Italian, with his calm, cool air, 
Led on from street to street — he followed in despair. 



158 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vi. 

XVIII. 

Earth has few places, where one's final gaze 

Could bid the world a more superb good night : 

Palace on Palace, in the sunset blaze ; 

Peter's bronze statue, flittering; on its height, 
The Monolithe, a shaft of sculptured light, 

The Neva's sheet of lapis-lazuli, 

The Taurida, like frosted silver, bright — 

Domes, flags, costumes of every rainbow dye ; 

And, vaulting all earth's pomp, the North's most sapphire 
sky. 

XIX. 
Their way was by the Admiralty- Strasse, 

They left it filled with man and woman-kind ; 
The Prince glanced back upon the glittering mass, 

And wished his old tormentor dead or blind. 

They stopped at last. — A scream was heard behind, 
A female sprang between their sabres drawn, 

Then on the old Italian's neck reclined, 
Panting and trembling, like a frightened fawn ; 
His Highness gazed— and found new light upon him dawn. 



canto vi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 159 

XX. 
Though no great sentimentalist, her bloom 

Had often, in his fancy, seemed to sail 
Across the darkness of his lonely room. 

He thought her lovelier still, though now so pale. 

Ladies, pray, finish for yourselves the tale. 
Woman is woman, whether young or old. 

The rose, thej^ say, best blossoms in the gale. 
The maiden's blush, the sex's story told. 
Some love the impudent, but all adore the bold ! 

XXI. 
When all was settled, swords on both sides sheathed, 

His hand a captive to the lady's eyes : 
('Twas the first time that he had freely breathed, 

For two full years or more) his Highness cries, 

" Mon pere, now tell me, where the secret lies, 
That in our tiltings gave my sword no chance." 

" Prince," said Man pere " let that be no surprise : 
All Europe knows me — I'm The Count Vaillance, 
First swordsman to the Guards, andGrcmde Epee de France!" 



160 THE 310DERN ORLANDO. canto vi. 

XXII. 

NISMES. 
Nismes, it was not thy Amphitheatre, 

Though, model of the lovely and the vast ; 
Nor Parian temple, in its thousandth year, 

(Rome's legacy, her noblest and her last,) 

Standing, the bright memorial of the past, 
That almost won the homage of my knee. 

My glance upon a rugged scene was cast, 
The lowly haunt of pain and poverty — 
The place of martyrdom, the mouldering Boucarie. 

XXIII. 
On that stern spot once stood the Camisard ! 

The axe before him, on his neck the chain ; 
Bleeding and bound, amid the scoffing guard, 

With all their dark machinery of pain ; 

All that could rend the heart, or fire the brain ; — 
Yet, not a sigh escaped, or murmur fell — 

Who can believe such blood was shed in vain ? 
Let dotards talk of monk's or hermit's cell ; 
Heroes of living faith, ye served your Master well ! 






CANTO VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 161 

XXIY. 

Ye proved, what Faith and Nature have in store ; 

The slumbering majesty, the viewless might. 
What knew those gallant hearts, of classic lore ? 

They had no lesson from the Stagyrite, 

No shade of Brutus flashed upon their sight, 
No Cato taught the goatherd how to die — 

But, in their bosoms blazed a quenchless light, 
As high o'er Greece and Rome, as Heaven is high. 
Blest be the humble spot, where still their reliques lie ! 

XXY. 
And still, their names are living through the hills ; 

Their bold adventures fill the peasant's ear ; 
And many a tear from woman's eye distils, 

While round her knee her children throng to hear, 

Of Ravenel, Jonquet, and Cavalier. 
And still the rhymes of many a rustic bard. 

The wandering minstrel of the mountaineer, 
Record the days of glory, though ill-starred, 
When France's marshals fled before the Camisard. 



162 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO vi. 

XXVL 

Forward — I feel new life in every gale, 

Joy in the skies, and sweets in every brake ; 
Beneath me, from this height, lie hill and dale. 

I catch the flash of sunlight from the lake, 

I see the river, like a silver snake, 
Winding round many a Baron's ancient hold — 

Proud seats of power, that only Time could shake : 
Some, still in frowning grandeur, broad and bold, 
Some, wrapt, (like creeping age) in ivy's thick-wove fold. 

XXVII. 
What if the Royal Writ was, now and then, 

Answered by cannon-shot, and trumpet-calls ? 
" 'Tis true, 'tis pity." — But, men will be men : 

Life is a lake, it stagnates without squalls. 

Long tables were the style within those walls ; 
Of course, long dinings, dancings, maskings, songs ; 

Old, red-nosed Abbots, in their purple palls, 
Embroidered matrons, and young " loves," in throngs. 
If" rights" make mankind dull, give me the age of "wrongs! 



, anto vi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 163 

XXVIII. 
But then, their scaffolds, dungeons, chains for life ! 

(Must /apologize for things like these?) 
And yet — suppose the Baron had a wife, 

Sharp-nailed, long-tongued, a sort of home disease, 

A sweetmeat soured, champagne upon the lees ! 
Might not his "Lordship" take, or make, the law? — 

(Men, in this world, may like themselves to please,) 
Settling domestic points, without eclat ; 
Before the chancellor's curls kept all the world in awe. 

XXIX. 
I say no more — But those were merry times ; 

With all their fancies, frolics, and cost ami , 
Italian festivals, Provencal rhvmes — 

" Death," the least sentence passed upon the gloomy. 

Blue-devils, all banished to their native Numi. 
Then Character was stamped, strong, full, and clear, 

But now, John Bull — ah ! " Bos procumbit humi," 
Oar stars of wit, the clever and the queer, 
Drop out of Fashion's skies, and leave us darkling here. 



164 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vi 

XXX. 

Where shall we find thy rivals sportive Sydney ? 

Tory in heart, and Whig alone in name, 
(Their solemn spleen was never of thy kidney) 

Yet making of them both thy lawful game. 

Swift's living portrait, in a Canon's frame ! 
Now kicking Peachum, and now trouncing Lockit ; 

Time only giving brightness to thy fame, 
Thy humour burning broadest, in its socket. 
Thou 'rt gone, with all thy blaze, thou reverend Congreve 
rocket. 

XXXI. 
At some huge dinner of some huge Lord Mayor, 

An Actor, placed by chance, beside the Wit, 
Listening with very patronizing air ; 

Next day, in his munificence, thought fit, 

To send a "free admission" for his Pit. 
The answer came — " Good sir, within your walls, 

Gout and old age prohibit me to sit ; 
But, as we too have galleries and stalls, 
I send you here, a 'free admission' to St. Paul's." 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 165 

XXXIL 

Earth has not tact enough to " double " Brummell ! 

Our pantomime has lost its Pantaloon. 
No living leg can cross his hobby's pummel, 

Buffoon, but still earth's cleverest buffoon. 

Do I not see his visage in the Moon, 
Making its mouths at this dull globe of earth ? 

None in our Grand Goose-pie now dips the spoon ; 
Wit is a foundling, strangled in its birth ; 
Pounds, shillings, pence, are now our wisdom, wit, and mirth. 

XXXIII. 
King of the Dandies ! now, thy reign is done, 

(I speak with reverence of all kings — and queens ;) 
Forgotten, like the Whigs, or Babylon ! 

Once lawgiver in snuff-boxes and screens ; 

Whispering cool truths to beauties past their teens ; 
Making old Princes laugh, while wigs were curled ; 

Limning the May-Fair hatreds, loves, and " scenes : " 
(Too soon, like Phaeton, from high-life hurled.) 
We miss thee terribly, in this old, tirescme World. 



166 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO VI. 

XXXIV. 

Well, thou art gone — So go all earthly things : 

Csesar is clay, and madcap Alexander, 
(With others, like Scotch herrings, hung in strings,) 

Or Homer's heroes, drowned in the Scamander, 

Or that Albanian merveillevx, Iskander ; 
If ev'n Lord Mayors and Aldermen are " vanity," 

Why should'st thou see all sink ? — the sole bystander. 
Yet, what a puff of air is poor humanity ! 
I wish thou hadst not sunk, in sad and chill inanity. 

XXXV. 
Ah D y, name of pleasant memory, 

Of fire and frost, of folly and of reason ! 
Which shall thy tribute be, a smile or sigh ? 

Thou laugh, and terror, of the " London season," 

Telling to ladies, of their looks high-treason ; 
In love a prude, in politics a rake, 

Making with Gr — y, and C — nn— ng, a liaison, 
Dying a bachelor, for beauty's sake ; 
Clever and kind, and yet — thy life a long mistake. 



: CANTO vr. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 167 

XXXVI. 

How oft I Ve seen thee glancing down the tables, 

Thinking aloud, reviewing all their belles. 
— " That widow 's pretty, clearly sick of sables, 

" Wasting upon that clownish boy her spells. 

" I wonder, for how much his title sells : 
" 'Tis true, all mothers think him a trump-card ! 

— " Her neighbour's eye upon the ceiling tells, 
" She walks by moonlight, and performs the Bard. 
" I '11 ask her to take wine — An epic poem 's marred ! 

XXXVII. 

— " ' To wed or not to wed? ' — That is the question, 
" I '11 wed. — That showy girl is one of us : 

" High born, high bred — I '11 venture the suggestion. 
(f Yet — English marriages make such a 6 fuss ; ' 
" Relations chatter, newspapers ' discuss ; ' 

" Bad poets on one's name bad verses jingle. 
" I 'd rather marry Dutch, or Swiss, or Russ : 

" But then, their jargon makes one's fibres tingle. 

" The sex are charming, but — I ? m charm-proof — I '11 live 
single." 



168 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO vi. 

XXXVIII. 

Then, when the fair had vanished from the room, 
And Commonplace sailed round on downy wings, 

His brow would darken into sudden gloom, 

Till the pent thought shot out its wayward stings : 
— " I hate all characters in leading-strings ; 

'■ I like Br — gh — m's vigour, terseness, vehemence, 
" When his fierce jests around the House he flings ; 

" (Provided always — not at my expense,) 

" His hurricane of words, shrewd wit, and bile intense. 

xxxix. 
" Jack R — ss — 11 charms me, with his quiet air, 

" His simple phrase, and purpose undesigned ; 
" Smooth without languor, polished without glare ; 

" Feeling his way, until his coil is twined ; 

" Then, darting all his meaning on the mind ! 
" L — ndh — rst's is peerage-language — proud and bold ; 

" Yet proud howe'er the tongue, the heart is kind ; 
" (I know it, and the tale shall yet be told,) 
" A heart unstain'd by power — a tongue unsway'd by gold. 



canto vr. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 169 

XL. 
" Ah. M — lb — me ! pleasantest of pleasant men! 

••' Without an enemy, though born a wit. 
•• What caged thy pinion in the treasury den, 

K In Fashion's gayest sunshine formed to flit ? 

" Apollo saved thee from the fate of Pitt. 
;; In six months more, thou would'st have spoil'd thy style. 

" Grown statesmanish) and never made a hit : 
•'•' Nay. parted with (if possible) thy smile, 
u And slept in state, and stone, in Westminsters old pile, 

XLL 
" Dear M ******, in thy world of ormolu, 

" Sleeping on rose-leaves, fed on turtle-soup ; 
" The beau-ideal of Life's 6 chosen few! 1 

" What demon toss'd thee upon C — bd — n's croupe ? 

K Thou Cavalier amid that Roundhead troop ! 
M Take my advice, and sleep on rose-leaves still ; 

" Play Cleopatra on thy gilded poop ; 
" Breathe odours, toy with pencil, string, and quill, 
" But cut (without delay) the Cyclops of the Mill!" 



170 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vi 

XLII. 
Then a grim pause ; then follows — " St — nl — y 's clever ; 

" Solid, yet bright — a diamond-facet mind. 
" R — chm — nd talks gallantly. Young Gr — y for ever ! 

" Forgetting (always) that we have not dined. 

" The Duke ! not Time itself that glance can blind ; 
" Far-sighted in debate as in the field ; 

" Still, ' en avant ; ' he scorns to look behind : 
" By Genius, Fame, and Fortune, triple-steePd, 
" Ev'n when repulsed at last, unknowing how to yield." 

XLIII. 
Then, through the alphabet he murmurs on ; 

" A.'s full-dress piety begins to flag ; 
st B.'s back-bench pungency is dead and gone, 

66 A wag at best, and now a worn-out wag; 

" C.'s brains are empty as his briefless bag ; 
" D.'s but a bubble, water half, half air ; 

" E.'s eloquence is but a broidered rag ; 
" F.'s conscience is not worth a railroad share." — 
The Oracle is dumb — some tremble, and all stare. 



CANTO vi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 171 

XLIV. 

THE JOURNEY. 
The landscape opens — One broad sheet of heath, 

Spread, like a sea, in sunny-coloured swells ; 
Yielding beneath my wheels its fragrant breath, 

Blue, in the distance, rise the peaked Estrelles, 

The mountain rampart of the fairy dells, 
Where Hyeres nestles on its flowery shore ; 

And sweet, in snatches, comes the chime of bells, 
From the brown convents on thy cliffs, Le Maure, 
Mingling with forest sounds, and surges' mellowed roar. 

XLV. 
And now I climb the mountain defile, 

Seen like a thread of silver from below, 
Winding by stunted shrub, and dwarfish tree, 

And shattered rock, the work of storm and snow. 

The ridge is gained — I feel the breezes blow, 
Loaded with sudden scents of fruit and flower. 

Far as the eye can glance, the billows glow, 

In the full splendour of the sunset hour : 

Earth, sea, and skies, one scene of beauty, peace and power. 

i2 



172 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vi. 

XLYI. 

I gaze a moment from the marble slope, 

Then plunge down paths with thousand blossoms strown, 
A labyrinth of rose and heliotrope ; 
A Paradise, by lavish Nature sown. 
But, whence that shout ? that trumpet's startling tone ? 
And hark ! the thunder of the batteries, 

Where Toulon sits upon her sea-girt throne : 
The tri-colour on every steeple flies ; 
Till deepening twilight veils shore, sea, and crimson skies, 

XLVIL 
France is all extacy. — Her dogs bark louder; 

The way-side hovel joins the general cheer; 
The pedlar, by his donkey, marches prouder ; 

The beggar toasts the " triumph ! " in his beer. 

— "The Prince has riddled thy mud- walls, Tangier/' 
" Morocco 's ours," exclaims my lank postilion, 

Casting behind a genuine Gallic sneer. 
The hen-wife, jogging by, upon her pillion, 
Cries out "Morocco 's ours/' (I differ from the Million.) 



, CANTO VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 173 

XLVIII. 
Those are tough subjects, those same Algerines : 

Ill-horsed, ill-pursed, ill-armed, and black-japanned ; 
Not clever at composing Bulletins, 

But, stubborn fighters for their rock and sand, 

Long shots, and quick at sword-play, hand to hand : 
Razzia for razzia — blood for blood, their barter; 

Sowing with Gallic bones their sultry strand : 
Not puzzling much their brains with Code, or Charter : 
But teaching show}' France, that she has "caught a Tartar." 

XLIX. 

But, let me give the portrait of their leader: — 
Form, slight as woman's, delicate and low; 

Who sees in this the fiery Abd-el-Keder ? 

A languid, hollow eye, voice soft, speech slow, 
A holy Hadgi, scorning outward show ; 

Wearing no broidered robe, no jewelled crown- 
But — rushing like a whirlwind on the foe. 

The desert's burning sand, his bed of down ; 

One of those beings stamped by nature for renown. 



174 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VI. 



L. 
His simple dress, a black bernouse most holy, 

Dipt in thy well of sanctity, Zem-zem : 
From Mecca sent to hero-saintship solely, 

Unsullied warriors, of the Prophet's stem ; 

Upon his hand a single signet-gem ; 
A country mantle, loosely round him drawn ; 

A lion's yellow fur his garment's hem : 
Trotting beside his steed, a hound, or fawn. 
Thus, to the life, you have the Desert's great Sultaun ! 

LI. 
One tires of Europe — florid all, and fade ; 

Ev'n Turkey is, for me, too European. 
Some of the prettiest feasts I 've ever had, 

Were neither in Propontis nor iEgean ; 

But, where the lion roared the evening paean, 
And men, with faces black as English coals, 

Sang songs that might have cheered the jovial Teian ; 
Though brandy never bathed their glowing souls. 
(For brilliant fetes like those, we live too near the Poles.) 



canto vi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 175 

LIL 
I 've tried them. — If you love true luxury, 

You once might have enjoyed it in Algiers : 
Alas ! the Bey's old banquets are gone by — 

Unrivalled treats for palate, eyes, and ears. 

A plague upon you both, Guizot and Thiers ! 
Still, the world 's wide, Morocco has Sherbet, 

And, when you both have slumbered into Peers, 
Or gone, where ministers no longer fret ; 
Long may her Turban wear its emerald- wreathed Aigrette. 

LIIL 
THE BANQUET. 
I think, that I have seen the " Grand receptions," 

And shown my star at all the courts on earth, 
(In Europe, half the Orders are deceptions) 

Seen all the ugly, eminent for birth, 

Known all the leading belles, in love, or mirth ; 
But this I will say, that the "savage" Moors, 

Though of our novels they may have some dearth, 
And know not much of claret, or chalked floors, 
To Europe's best cuisine, are — " elegants," to boors ! 



176 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VI. 



LIV. 

You enter a low door and reach a court, 
All marble, rich with texts from the Koran, 

(The lordly Moor loves wisdom, in his sport); 
Upsprings a central fountain, like a fan, 
Scattering its rose-dews on your outward man ; 

All round it, right and left, expand saloons, 
Shaded with curtains, making noontide wan ; 

Black Venuses, all glittering with doubloons, 

There meet you with a dance to most ferocious tunes. — 

LV. 
The master waits you in his presence-chamber, 

A train of negroes lead you up the stair ; 
You see a hall of ivory and amber, 

Hung round with gold-wrought pistols, pair by pair, 

Greek musquetoons, and daggers rich and rare, 
You tread on Persian carpets, sit on sables, 

(The Moorman's limbs disdain our stiif-backed chair) : 
You lounge on silk divans r by crystal tables — 
All looks a living scene of Araby's bright fables. 



CANTO VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 177 

LVL 

But, to the banquet-room. — There smokes the mess, 

That steals the heart of Christian, Turk, and Jew, 
The exquisite pillau ! — I must confess 

That Europe never made a better stew — 

(I leave the subject to the learned few.) 
In this the Turk will always beat the Russians. 

And, just as Sol is bidding Earth adieu, 
We perch delightfully on velvet cushions — 
Thus, with the marble floor avoiding all percussions. 

LVII. 
Now, (simply, for a lesson to our pride,) 

Let me glance round, a moment, on the dishes, 
That on and off the silver table glide, 

As if a necromancer heard our wishes ; 

Ten kinds of soups, and twentj^ kinds of fishes ; 
Omelettes, purees and pates, without number, 

(France, I 'm prepared, for all your "pshaws " and " pishes," 
Your Almanach, to this, is mere book-lumber), 
Then comes the huge Meerschaum, half melting you to 
slumber. 

i3 



178 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vr. 

LVIII. 

The table 's cleared — Cuscussu, mild as milk, 
(The perfect work of sugar, rice and cream,) 

Lines all your feelings, like a suit of silk. 

Rich scents of burning gums around you stream, 
Then follow, songs, (the minstrels sometimes scream,) 

Then, dances to their drums, (which sometimes stun,) 
Making their dark eyes flash, their white teeth gleam, 

(Tastes are still native, in this Land of Sun.) 

Then follow fruits, kabnbs, — the feast is but half done ! 

LIX. 
But, all things end at last. At last, rose-water 

Is poured by kneeling slaves upon your hands ; 
As if you were his Beyship's favourite daughter, 

With fifty suitors waiting your commands. 

Then come the coffee-cups, on pearl-wrought stands ; 
Exquisite Mocha ! followed by the Pipe, 

(Well worth the sceptre, in all Moslem lands.) 
Last, gold-embroidered silks your forehead wipe ; 
Thus finishing a feast, Elysium's Moorish type ! 



CANTO VI. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 179 

LX. 
Farewell, thou fiery soil of lion-fighters, 

To softer scenes my rambling way I wend, 
Exchanging turbans for Red-hats and Mitres ; 

Long beards, for " Toes,*' to which all spines must bend : 

The land of monks, and souls for monks to mend ; 
Of purple lake, proud spire, and palace dome : 

Of scenes by Titian painted, Dante penn'd. 
Ye " gentlemen, who live at ease at home," 
Accept for " London life," a sketch of " Life in Rome." 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 181 



NOTES TO CANTO VI. 



Page 150, line 10. 

Medoc^ thou charmer, 

Medoc, the spot so famous for its clarets, is simply a long bank of 

pebbles and sand, on the side of the Garonne, and is a contin uation 

of the sandy waste lying between Bordeaux and Bayonne, known 

as u The Landes. " 

Page 150, line 15. 
Old Sir Samuel's Brands. 
Sir S. Scott, proprietor of the Lafitte vineyard. 

Page 151, line 1. 
The Girondist. 
The Deputies from this department, the Gironde, were regarded 
as the most eloquent members of the National Convention ; but they 
were all destroyed at an early period of the Democracy. In revolu- 
tions, the tongue is always beaten by the dagger. 

Page 153, line 4. 
Schanze. 
In German, fortress, or castle. 

Page 153, line 10. 
Prater. 
The Hyde Park of Vienna. 

Page 153, line 13. 

Rosenthal. 
The rose-valley. 



182 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 

Page loo, line 12. 
Shonbrunn. 

The summer palace of Vienna. 

Page 158, line 5. 
The Monolithe. 

The column, of a single stone, surmounted with the statue of the 
Emperor Alexander. 

Page 158, line 7. 
The Taurida. 
Once the palace of Potemkin. 

Page 160, line 1. 
Nismes, 
The chief antiquities in Nismes are its Roman amphitheatre, and 
its Maison Carree, once a pagan temple, and still remarkable for the 
preservation and beauty of its architecture. 

Page 160, line 9. 
The Boucaree. 
Here were executed the gallant leaders of the Camisards, in 1705. 

Page 161, line 14. 
Of Ravenel, Jouquet, and Cavalier, 
Leaders of the Camisards, Protestant peasants of the Cevennes, 
forced into resistance by the determination of Louis XIV., in his old 
age, to extirpate protestantism, as an atonement for the profligacy of 
a life. The peasantry rose on the troops and the priesthood ; and a 
bloody war followed, in which thirty thousand of the Camisards fell, 
and probably a still larger number of the soldiery. The Camisards 
were gradually rendered fierce and fanatical ; but their persecution, 
like all religious persecutions, was an atrocious crime against common 
sense and common humanity. They defeated three French marshals, 
in succession, and were only cheated into submission by the fourth. 



NOTES TO CANTO VI. 183 

Page 165, line I. 
Brummell. 

The name of this luckless being is introduced here, not in memory 
of his fashionable trifling, but of his genius. He originated a style ; 
he impressed new thoughts by a new language. No matter how 
frivolous the purpose, the man who can do this, does more, and is 
more, than the million. 

Page 171, line 4. 
The peaked Estrelles. 
The country guarded on the north by the range of the Estrelles 
and Les Maures, spreading from the foot of the range to the Medi- 
terranean, is memorable for its almost tropical luxuriance. 



Page 174, line 1. 
Bernouse. 



A Moorish cloak. 



Page 174, line 2. 
Zem-zem. 
The sacred well at Mecca, in which Mahometans dip their arms, 
and portions of their clothing, in the idea of their being made im- 
penetrable by the sword. 

Page 178, line 1. 
Cuscussu, mild as milk. 
The universal potage of the Arabs, yet differing as widely in its 
composition as soup maigre from turtle. All depends on the locale 
in cuscussu, as in so many other things. 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 185 



CANTO VII 

THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 

I. 

" Once on a day/' as says the nursery rhyme; 

There came to Rome, a strange, wild-looking man ; 
Handsome, yet stern ; not old, yet past his prime. 

The oddest rumours round the salons ran. 

His visage wore the hue of Hindostan ; 
All thought, they knew, him ; and yet, none knew where ; 

But, all agreed that, came he from Japan, 
However some might shake their heads, or stare, 
His "Gran' palazzo" stood in Rome's most princely square. 



186 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VII 



II. 

The stranger made a marvellous " impression ; " 

The Cavalieri asked — his depth of purse ; 
The Signorine asked — his birth, profession ; 

Some thought he had a great estate at nurse ; 

Some thought him an " escroc" or something worse ! 
But then — the Stranger gave such charming dinners ; 

At play, too, he could handsomely disburse ; 
A thing, especially, which pleased the winners. 
" We must not be too hard — the best of us are sinners." 



III. 
Still, dark reports would, now and then, transpire, 

Of matters, done at night in his hotel ; 
His chimney-tops were seen to shoot blue fire ; 

Some found, in passing by, a sulphurous smell ; 

'Twas said, he laughed at priest, and book, and bell ; 
Nay scoffed, whene'er St. Peter's chimes were ringing. 

At midnight, more than once, was heard a yell ; 
At least, the sound was anything but singing ; 
With roar of furnaces, and chains of iron swinging. 



canto vii. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 187 

IV. 

At all events, " whatever might be his errors ; " 
All owned, he drove a splendid set of bays, 

Pure Arab blood, with skins as bright as mirrors ; 
Besides, for highdays, and for holidays, 
A carriage, carved and gilt beyond all praise ; 

With four tall footmen, and two " grands chasseurs ; " 
Producing on the Corso, quite a blaze : 

The very virtuous called them " rabble lures ;" 

The young and pretty wished, to join them in their tours. 

V. 
At length, reports came thick ; and certain measures, 

(Old Inquisition touches,) were in petto, 
To mulct the Stranger of his midnight pleasures : 

— " The Swindler must be dungeon'd in the Ghetto. " 

Such was the verdict of Count Marmozetto, 
Field-marshal to St. Peter and St. Paul. 

Not so pronounced the Cardinal of Loretto, 
(As fat a prelate, as e'er filled a stall,) 
Not so, the Bishops, Deans, Archdeacons, Priests, and all. 



188 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vii 

VI. 

In delicacy, I suppress their reasons ; 

(Your priests should tell, what only priests can know,) 
But, the Confessional, at certain seasons, 

Shriving the lapses of Rome's comme ilfaut, 

Makes them familiar with — the " Courts below." 
Here were no Jesuits, blowing hot and cold ; 

They stamped the Stranger black from top to toe — 
A Fiend, despatched to ravage all their fold — 
A Special Envoy, sent from — u Nicholas the old." 

VII. 
But, while they sat, in poured a shower of cards, 

The Stranger's invitations to a fete ; 
It broke up all their conclave, like petards. 

'Twas known his " petits soupers " were first-rate ; 

His Holiness himself showed no such plate ; 
His truffles were supreme, his wines delicious ; 

— " A banquet was no treason to the state." 
" 'Tis true, his character might seem suspicious," 
But, — w r ho on earth e'er stopped, to ask, tvho was Apicius 



CANTO VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 189 

VIII. 
Rome has some showy doings at her " festas;" 

This banquet threw them all into eclipse ; 
Never were dreamed in Mahomet's siestas, 

Draughts so luxurious, as now bathed their lips — 

The cardinals' rods to his were chips : 
The entremets, dessert, were all enchanting. 

Then followed scenes, o'er which description skips. 
At dawn, Count Marmozetto was " found wanting," 
A neckcloth (rather tight), 'twas said, had cured his taunting. 

IX. 

Then, came the bustle of his grand relations, 

(All Counts are saints, of course, when once they're 
strangled.) 
Ten Abbes made ten funeral orations ; 

In which the Stranger's morals were much mangled ; 

He brought ten actions — Rome's first lawyers wrangled — 
The facts lost nothing in their " learned jaws : " 

The sex, were quickly on both sides entangled, 
(Those native lawyers, who fight best for straws.) 
Till Chancery engulfed fees, damages, and cause. 



190 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VII. 



The proudest house in Rome, was the Valonna, 
The Stranger boldly asked its daughter's hand ; 

The princess-mother vowed to the Madonna, 

" She 'd sooner give her to the hangman's brand ; " 
The prince pronounced the suitor a " brigand." 

The son resolved — " to break his spine down stairs ; " 
The twenty cousins — " asked but the command, 

To stab him, 6 if he ever went to prayers ;' 

Or, in the Tyber cool, for life, his love affairs." 



XL 
Next morning, to the palace, came a box, 

The Stranger's gift, — inscribed, " A marriage jewel." 
The father swore " to clap him in the stocks, 

On workhouse diet, chaff and water-gruel;" 

The son new-edged his sabre for a duel. 
The daughter — " only asked, one peep within — 

To send it back unopened, might seem cruel." 
The mother voted, " Diamonds were no sin." 
The sex, on such nice points, are always sure to win. 



CANTO vii. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 191 

XIL 

A DIGRESSION ON DIAMONDS. 
A few " last words " on diamonds — charm of thrones ! — 

Tempters of man, of woman, and of child ! 
Whether ye flash embossed on harem-zones, 

Or rust, on Europe's old regalia piled, 

Or cluster in your " caves and antres wild," 
Tell me, what are ye ? — moonbeams crystalized ; 

Or glittering dust from comets' coach-wheels filed ; 
Or fragments of some Asteroid demised? — 
I never knew the belle, by whom ye were despised. 

XIII. 
I touch but their elite, — and first, the Regent, 

Bought by old roue Orleans, sold by Pitt, 
(Not Will the mighty,) the Bencoolen agent. 

Pope said, the Indian finder had been bit, 

(For which the Pittite should have caned the Wit.) 
The gem next figured on Napoleon's sword ; 

Until the kings and queens of earth thought fit, 
To crowns and civil lists to be restored ; 
And flung with one consent, the " Corporal " overboard ! 






192 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto vir. 

XIV. 

An emerald tinge just shades the Saxon gem ; 

Once the bright eye-ball of a golden cat, 
Couched on a Rajah's spell-bound diadem, 

Now, glittering in the monarch's opera-hat. 

The Peishwa, when his courtiers played the rat, 
(Not liking British bayonets in their backs,) 

Left the Nassuc ; some say, 'tis cut too flat. 
/ only know, 'twas worth a pair of lacs. 
Those were gay days among our red-coated Cossacks. 

XV. 

The Austrian diamond figures, like Othello, 
The handsomest dark thing you ever saw ; 

With one broad turban-stripe of golden yellow. 
The Pigott shines on Egypt's old Pasha — 
Your Turk regards those " high-caste " stones with awe, 

As talismans for poison, lead, and steel ; 
No tiger on their wearer lays a paw ; 

No lion swallows him from head to heel ; 

Since Solomon the king, first wore a diamond seal ! 



canto VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 193 

XVI. 

Pray, in whose coffers sleeps the Grand Nizam ? 

That dazzled all the court of George the Third : 
When Nabob Hastings made his first salam ? 

(Your nabobs seldom have the world's good word.) 

Where lurks the Breastplate of the magic bird, 
Torn from the turban of the Great Mogul ? 

When Nadir's dashing horse to Delhi spurred, 
Paving their road with many an Omrah's skull ; 
Macadamizing, for thy sturdy step, John Bull? 

XVII. 

Now, flit, across the mountains, to Lahore : 

To see old, sly Runjeet's " three million " prize. 
Diamond of diamonds ! Earth's one Koh-i-noor ! — - 

Matchless in weight, in water, and in size ; 

The wonder of a hundred million eyes ! 
(Forgive me all this jeweller's detail — 

You '11 have it yet, in u Customs or Excise," 
Darting across the world by steam and rail : 
/ merely furnish now its London " bill of sale.") 






194 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO VII. 

XVIII. 

But, to its story — (all those magnifiques, 

In Indian jewel-annals have a story) — 
The Noor, long ere the Romans and the Greeks, 

Blazed on an idol's brow, the Temple's glory, 

Guarded by maidens black, and Brahmins hoary ; 
Till, down on India rushed the Persian Khan, 

Leaving some hundred thousand saddles gory ; 
Then, came the robbers' robber, the Affghan. 
(Some pretty pickings still remain in Hindostan.) 

XIX. 

Then, when Shah Soojah — " Dust be on his mother ! 

Burnt be his father ! " — tottered from his throne ; 
(Those vagrants should be left to slice each other, 

Our wisest plan is, letting them alone !) 

He packed up the crown jewels, every stone ; 
Then, from his subjects beat a quick retreat, 

(A trick not quite to Europe's kings unknown,) 
A neck-and-neck affair : he won the heat, 
And ran to hide his head with cunning old Runjeet. 



CANTO VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 195 

XX. 

The Rajah panted to possess the Noor ; 

The Shah resolved, to keep it from his host ; 
The Rajah simply chained him to the floor, 

(Humanity had always been his boast !) 

Next day. Shah Soojah missed his boiled and roast! 
He (yet) was neither poisoned, hanged, nor drowned. 

Next week, his regimen was tea and toast ! 
Each day, they asked him, " was the jewel found?" 
The Shah's affairs, and shape, by no means "getting round." 

XXI. 

Next week, the tea and toast alike were " nil ; " 

The famished Shah now scribbled, roared, and whined. 
The Rajah sent him a gilt dinner-pill ! 

The Shah was still convinced, he had not dined. 

The gem was still — " beyond all hope to find." 
Though now you might make purses of his skin. 

For death the Indian had made up his mind. 

Runjeet, at last, bethought him, how to win : 

A pudding passed his grate — the Shah at once gave in ! 

K 2 



196 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



XXII. 

The box was opened ; it contained two sets : 
One for the princess-mother, one the daughter. 

The ladies vowed, that both were " downright pets !" 
" Never had eyes seen brilliants of such water ! " 
The gallant son postponed his plans of slaughter ; 

The father " found the stones without a flaw ; 

But then, the sneering world would say he bought her." 

The mother " for the world cared not a straw." 

The Stranger was declared, Valonna's son-in-law ! 



XXIII. 
The Roman dames all hurried to Confession ; 

The new mesalliance raised a general moan ; 
The monks pronounced the whole a " plain possession. 

It was a " horror M to Marchese Trombone ! 

It " shocked the soul " of Duca Pantalone ! 
It clothed in sackcloth all the tribes of " Ninny ! " 

The rumour plunged in " agonies unknown," 
All the Filchini, all the Cigarini ! 
Nay, almost killed the " Gran' Duchessa Fantocini !" 



canto VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 197 

XXIV. 
The twenty cousins now grew more outrageous, 

(No ducats having come, to cool their rage.) 
Pronounced the Stranger's very touch " contagious," 

i\nd met, to pledge themselves the war to wage, 

w Until they drove the 6 Sorcerer ' off the stage.'* 
The Stranger challenged the whole clique that night : 

Next morning, each could tell a tour de page, 
Some had been stript, some pumped, some flogged outright. 
All Rome laughed long and loud, — the heroes took to flight- 

XXV. 

The wedding came : the walls were hung with flowers : 

The streets were lined with horse and halberdier. 
First, rode the valets, scattering coin in showers ; 

Then, with a troop of nobles, front and rear, 

The bridal carriage, hailed with many a cheer, 
Clustered with pages. — But, the man was bold 

Who gazed upon the spectral dancers there, 
Painted upon its sides of glass and gold ! 
Never had such four wheels o'er Roman pavements rolled. 



CANTO VII. 



198 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 

XXVI. 
A DIGRESSION OX COACHES. 
I have been long a connoisseur in coaches ; 

Not, your trim, varnished, citizen affairs ; 
Your Stanhopes, Clarences — Taste's last reproaches ! 

Consumptive cousins to your " chaise-and-pairs !" 

Nor your huge, tumbril things, like my Lord Mayor's, 
Lumbered with old-world finery, carved and gilt; 

Britain at top, with Tritons at their prayers ; 
Ireland in trousers ; Scotland in her kilt ; 
Simply a six-horse wain, with an embroidered tilt I 

XXVII. 
I liked the phaeton — it marked the age. 

What if it sometimes broke a noble neck ; 
Twas showy — 'twas like dying on the stage Jt 

Or, by court-martial, on the quarter-deck I 

Then, came the four-in-hand ; and went— to wreck ! 
Then, the gay curricle. — Alas ! Queen Mab, 

Sovereign of whips ! with Fashion at thy beck. 
Why didst thou suffer in thy realms the cab ? 
Fit but for pedlars, quacks, and the meek men of drab , r 



CANTO VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 199 

XXVIII. 

France ! for your royal coach I can't say much : 

'Tis spruce, but modern, like your monarchy ; 
The crown and sceptre trembling at a touch. 

I much prefer old Austria's gilt goose-pie. 

But still, the finest thing that met my eye, 
Was Spain's ; now mouldering in Valencay's stables ; 

A genuine emblem of the days gone by : 
Like an old golden house, with all its gables, 
Covered with nymphs and ^vlphs, from Ovid's gayest fables. 

XXIX. 
But, to its points — I love to be particular, 

In great affairs, like carriages of kings. 
Royal the back, you must sit perpendicular, 

(Comfort and kingship are two different things;) 

Its pannels all a blaze of quarterings 
Of kingdoms, which long since have bid adieu : 

Caged pigeons, that no sooner felt their wings, 
Than, turned to kites and falcons, off they flew : 
Belgium and Portugal, stout Holland, wild Peru I 



200 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO Tit 

XXX. 

Naples, thy Coach has failed to touch my heart : 

Send to Long- Acre, monarch, if thou 'rt wise, 
And give thy dogs thy lazzaroni-car£ / 

The Pope has taste ; his holy coach outvies 
All toys that ever charmed Italian eyes } 
But finer to those eyes, than flags unfurled, 

Than crosiers, keys, and Saintly blazonries ; 
Are its six valets' perukes, Jove-like curled — 
Its Jehu's monster-wig, the wonder of the world. 

XXXI. 
1 think Soult's coach the prettiest one remembers, 

In all the glitter of the coronation ; 
When, to prevent the blowing of the embers, 
{La France all longing for the conflagration,) 
The veteran came, to make his last oration. 
Expecting to be roasted like a poult ; 

Heading his will — "In case of my cremation ! 
Yet, of a feather not compelled to moult ; 
But, welcomed by John Bull with — " Hurrah ! brave old 
Soult!" 



canto Mi. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 20] 

XXXII. 
'Tis odd, those Frenchmen never know John Bull ; 

Have never known him, and will never know. 
They think the honest fellow's honest skull 

Paints, like their own, all things, en laid, en beau : 

Always in extacies, of joy or woe ! 
They little dream, how quickly John forgets, 

Whether he helps a friend, or flogs a foe — 
The thing is past ; he neither crows, nor frets ; 
Goes on, and thinks no more of triumphs — than of threats. 



XXXIII. 
The Stranger issued, on his wedding-day, 

Cards for a supper and a masquerade. 
The monks advised their penitents, to stay, 

— " At least, until the demon should be laid." 

The women all were piously " afraid ! " 
But, let the Sex be once upon the scent, 

What power can stop them, widow, wife, or maid r 
— " How T could they help, how people made their rent ? 
" A fete was still a fete !" — And so, en masse, they went ! 






202 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto VU. 

XXXIV. 
The Romans are renowned for masquerades ; 

But this eclipsed them all — ten grand saloons 
Were filled with masquers, of all shapes and shades ; 

Witches and watchmen, cardinals, buffoons ; 

Jewelled pashas, all whiskers and half-moons ; 
Dwarfs in plate armour; babies six feet high ; 

Muftis, magicians, crocodiles, baboons ; 
Nymphs from the waves, and sylphids from the sky, 
Winning, with smile and song, the soul of a goose-pye I 

XXXV. 

There, groups were whirling in the prettiest dances ; 

The wild Fulana of the Calabrese ; 
The Monferrina, with its lovesick glances ; 

Its flying fair, and lover on his knees ; 

The Tarantella, music's charmed disease,. 
Gay, melancholy ; loving, love-defying ; 

The Piva, piping from the Pyrenees, 
(Its music imitates the breeze's sighing,) 
The Torrescone's " Round," all waltzing, bounding, flying ! 






canto VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 203 

I 

XXXVI. 

Then came " Les Grandes Quadrilles" — a Pulk of Tartars. 

En GaTopade, as wild as their own Crim ; 

Next, La Jeune France, armed cap-a-pie with charters, 
I 

Dancing — with fetters upon every limb. 

La Jeune Allemagne, slow, spectacled, and grim. 
Meerschaum in mouth, Voltaire's top-heavy scholars. 

Young Turkey, breeched and fez'd, in Mahmood's trim. 
Young England, with white vest, and Byron-collars. 
Last, Young America, all decked with British dollars. 

XXXVII. 
'Twas midnight. — All was dance, and song, and rapture; 

All, dazzling as an Oriental dream ; 
When, sudden sounds were heard, of fight, and capture ;— 

They died away. — Then rose a savage scream ; 

Forthwith, to all the doors the living stream 
Hurried pell-mell, — Then riot had its fling ; 

Stilettoes, in foul hands, were seen to gleam. 
A masked banditti, snatched at, w^atch and ring. 
(Some thought the stranger's self was foremost plundering.) 






204 THE MODERN ORLANDO. canto VII. 

XXXVIII. 

Next morn, all Rome was in a general wail; — 
All had been rifled of some favourite jewel : 

Some lost a turban, and some lost a tail. 
(The rage of gossips never wants for fuel.) 
All whispered, (plainer speech might cost a duel,) 

That, as the chandeliers began to crash, 
They saw a visage, leering, and yet cruel, 

Just at the moment when they lost their cash : 

A goblin's long-horned face, dart by them, like a flash ! 

XXXIX. 
The wonder had not passed its due " nine days," 

(The wedding feasts the Cardinals still feteing,) 
When, one fine night, all Rome was in a blaze : 

The fire-bells ringing, the alarm-drums beating : 

All the thermometers to 90 heating ; 
The streets, a flying mob of nun and friar ; 

The metal saints in every chapel sweating ; 
Flames shooting up from every roof and spire. 
Since Nero, Rome had seen no more hard-working fire. 



CANTO vil. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 205 

XL. 
w In sooth, it was a showy sight to see," 

(I use bard-language), Rome, by her own light, 
One flush of flame on church, and tower, and tree ; 

The Scarlet lady, scarlatized by night, — 

The Tyber's slimy banks, the Pincian's height, 
Showing, by fits and starts, their half-dressed crowd ; 

St. Peter's, like a molten mountain, bright ; 
St. Angelo's angel, gleaming through his cloud : 
The Coliseum's pile, a giant in his shroud ! 

XLI. 
One point, at least, was certain, — that the flames, 

Weiejirst seen bursting from the stranger's roof. 
The Roman mob are clever at hard names, 

Their softest, on that night, was "cloven hoof;" 

But, all took special care, to stand aloof: 
Vowing they saw the oddest figures glancing, 

Through all the flames, with horns and tails fire-proof; 
Some, riding broomsticks ; some, on pokers prancing : 
Imps, witches, goblins, gouls— in full-dress sulphur dancing! 



CANTO VII. 



206 THE MODERN ORLANDO. 

XLII. 

Rome has no chimney-sweepers. — She relies, 

In conflagration-cases, on St, Peter. 
Give him but time, the conflagration dies ! 

Than this no miracle could be completer. 

The stranger's palace fell, in fumes and fcetor. 
The Jews, next morning, dug out crucibles ; 

Also, in fifty fragments, a gas-meter, 
Stamps, dies, and packets of all kinds of fusibles ; 
(Witchcraft, and worse, from those, were plain deducibles I) 

XLIII. 
Furious suspicion on the stranger fell ! 

Within twelve hours the Grand Inquisitor 
Paid him a visit in his new hotel ; 

Leaving the Sbirri planted at his door. 

Whate'er the interview, 'twas quickly o'er. 
The stranger went, to take his daily drive ; 

His visitor was found upon the floor, 
Dead, e'er the priest could come, his soul to shrive. 
'Twas clear, the bees stung sharp, which clustered in that 
hive. 



canto VII. THE MODERN ORLANDO. 207 

XLIY. 

All now was fright. A Grand Inquisitor, 

" Jerked under the fifth rib/' was somewhat new. 
The witnesses, upon the inquest, swore 

It must be done by him, or by his crew. 

But, icho was he ? No living creature knew. 
Some thought him " cousin to the Witch of Endor," 

Some thought he was, at least, " the Wandering Jew," 
Some thought him " Belzebub's chief money-lender : 
One thing was plain, in Rome none lived in greater splendor. 

XLV. 
His style was now, the " cool magnanimous." 

— " He scorned to give Rome's gossips a denial. 
"He knew the venom of the monkish animus. 

" His rapier, to the rest was his defial. 

" He asked but of the state, a public trial." — 
The trial came. (The pleadings are omitted.) 

A purse, 'twas said, ere day had touched the dial, 
Was to each Judge's conscience duly fitted. 
The stranger marched from court, "triumphantly acquitted!" 



208 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 



CANTO VII. 



XLVL 
Some said ; who watched him through the day, in court ; 

That his deep eyeballs almost shot a blaze. 
Some, that his huge, hooked nose, in spite, or sport, 

Curled, like ram's horns, before their very gaze. 

Some, that his lips were twirled in such wild ways, 
They made one shudder, while they made one laugh. 

All, that he kept the Judges in amaze, 
Looking much more the butcher, than the calf. 
{My rule, in things like these, is, to believe one half.) 



XL VII. 
He now dashed on, at Fashion's double speed. 

" Demon or man," he gave " delightful routs." 
None longer asked his country, or his creed. 

His noble borrowers resigned all doubts. 

The rabble hung upon his wheels with shouts. 
The Monsignori washed him of his sins. 

Even belles, beneath his smiles, forgot their pouts ; 
So gallantly he showered his gold zechins. 
(Earth 's a teetotum, which old Mammon's finger spins.) 



CANTO VII. THE MODERN ORLANDOc 209 

XL VIII. 
The very well-bred world is not too nice ; 

Its science is, to lead an easy life, 
Nature abhors, in all things, the precise. 

Bon ton detests the Stoic's pruning knife. 

If woman errs, what then — " Is she your wife ? w 
If man — " Are you his spiritual director ? " 

Enjoy their feasts; why dabble in their strife? 
Shut both your eyes. " Who made you their inspector ? 
Must all the world perform Andromache and Hector ? " 

XLIX. 
Yet, still the rumours, thick and thicker flew, 

Of midnight sounds, and " deeds without a name,' 9 
'Twas marked, the stranger never wore a shoe ! 

Even at his marriage feast 'twas all the same ; 

Yet his bold stride was anything but lame. 
But, what dyed double-black, the blackest story, 

Was, that, one night, he won at every game ; 
Breaking the bank, and all its Monsignori ; 
Proof to all Roman eyes, of flendship, a -priori. 



210 THE MODERN ORLANDO. CANTO vir. 

L, 

Some would " pluck up the evil by the roots/' 

And talked of " burning," with Rome's ancient vigour. 

Some would begin by " ripping off his boots/' 
But then, the stranger was a dashing figure, 
A well-known artiste at the sword and trigger. 

The man whose bullet hits the ace of spades, 

Requires some prudence, mingled with one's rigour ; 

Your monks, besides, can work at safer trades, 

Than English pistol shots, or sharp Toledo blades. 

LI. 
Rut, suddenly, 'twas found, the cash of Rome 

Rang rather oddly, and looked rather queer ; 
The stranger, too, was seldomer " at home," 

He wore a darker frown, and fiercer sneer. 

The Jews were gathering up their bills, in fear. 
Scndi of copper, and pistoles of tin, 

Began, in tens of thousands, to appear; 
Monks knit the brow, and Rabbis shook the chin : 
— Rome, treasury and all,— was not worth a zechin ! 



CANTO vn. THE MODERN ORLANDO, 211 

LIL 

The guards were sent, quick-march, to seize the Stranger ; 

The Stranger had out-marched them, and was gone ! 
They hunted his hotel, from roof to manger, 

They might as well have let the deed alone. 

Whate'er he was, in Rome was never known ! 
Some think him, but a Coiner with his Mill, 

(The antiquarian's teeth still gnaw that bone.) 
Some have it, that he was a " shape of ill." 
Nay, some will take their oaths, he 's working in Rome still ! 



THE MODERN ORLANDO. 213 



NOTES TO CANTO VII. 



Page 191, line 1. 

Ltiamonds, charm of thrones. 

The great diamonds are few, and chiefly in the possession of 

sovereigns. 

Page 191, line 9. 

Asteroid. 

One of the system of minor planets, supposed to be thrown off 

from the larger. 

Page 191, line 11. 

The Regent. 

Once called the Pitt diamond, probably the finest brilliant in 

Europe. It was sold by Pitt, Governor of liencoolen, to the Regent 

Orleans, for 135, 000 J. sterling, and is said to be worth nearly half a 

million. 

Page 191, line 14. 

Pope said. 

(i Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, 

A cunning factor stole a gem away. " 

&c. &c. &c. 

Sir Balaam. 

Page 192, line 1. 
The Saxon gem. 
A large brilliant, but of a greenish tinge, worn by the king of 
Saxony as a button in his dress hat. 

Page 192, line 7. 
The Nassuc. 
A fine diamond, taken in the baggage of the Peishwa, during the 
Mahratta war, valued at 30,000/. 



214 NOTES TO CANTO VII. 

Page 192, line 10. 
The Austrian. 
Is tinged with yellow ; yet a fine diamond. 

Page 192, line 13. 
The Pigott. 
Said to have been sold for 30,000/., but valued at ten thousand 
more. 

Page 193, line 1. 

The Grand Nizam. 
A diamond weighing 101 carats, brought to England by Warren 
Hastings. 

Page 193, line 5. 

The Breastplate. 
The Mogul diamond, of great size, lost in the Persian invasion. 

Page 193, line 12. 
Earth's one Koh~i-Noor. 
The most famous of Indian diamonds, in our day. After going 
through the hands of various chiefs, it became the property of Shah 
Soojah, who carried it with him in his flight to Lahore. The Rajah 
Runjeet, resolving to obtain possession of this memorable jewel, 
imprisoned the Shah, and famished him, until he gave up the 
Koh-i-Noor (Mountain of Light). 

Page 200, line 4. 
His Holiness's state coach is as handsome as his Neapolitan 
neighbour's is the contrary. Nothing tries the loyalty of the noblesse 
of Parthenope so severely on public days. The chief delight of 
Rome, however, is in the monstrosity of the powdered and hatless 
periwigs of the Pope's coachman and footmen. 

Page 207, line 2. Dl 5 '-4^ 
"Jerked under the fifth rib." 

Othello. 

































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